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A NOVEL 

BY 

ERNST ECKSTEIN 

Author of “ Quintus Claudius,” etc. 


FROM THE GERMAN 


BY 


CLARA BELL 


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—AUTHORIZED EDITION— 


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t \ U u <. - J HStiy Li 


IN TWO VOLUMES 


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_VOL 1 


REVISED AND CORRECTED IN THE UNITED STATES 


NEW YORK 

WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER, PUBLISHER 
II MURRAY STREET 
1885 






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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1885 
by William S. Gottsberger 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington 


THIS TRANSLATION WAS MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THE PUBLISHER 


of 

?Tl<c/vo 








THE WILL. 


CHAPTER I. 

Walking along the lonely High-street which 
cuts across the market-place of Halldorf, dividing 
it into two unequal parts, behold, in the early 
dawn, a singular apparition — a man of about 
thirty, lean and pale, with a curiously narrow face. 
A shabby silk-hat covers his thin hair, his legs are 
encased in tightly-fitting cloth gaiters and his 
body is wrapped in the queerest coat that ever 
mortal wore. Karl Theodor Heinzius, duly licensed 
as a town schoolmaster, inherited this holiday gar¬ 
ment from an uncle who was some inches taller 
and at least twice as stout; Heinzius, thrifty and 
indifferent to his appearance, had been content to 
move the buttons some inches back with his own 
hands, and to cut the flowing skirts shorter with 
the large scissors that lay on his desk; and the 
coat thus modified he was now wearing for the 
seventh year, not merely as a gala costume on 

Vol /. i 


t 



2 


THE WILL. 


festive occasions, but also as his working-dress 
and official garb. 

It was early in September, and thus the middle 
of the long vacation; the schoolmaster’s pace was 
brisker than it would have been during the school- 
months, and the stick in his hand and the satchel 
slung across his shoulder with “ Bon voyage ” on 
the flap, argued that he was setting out on some 
expedition into the country. He paused in front 
of a house looking on to the market-place and 
giving his hatchet-face as broad and genial an ex¬ 
pression as it was capable of assuming, he tapped 
at a half-open window on the ground-floor. 

“ Good-morning!” he called into the little 
room. “ Otto are you ready ?” 

“ Good-morning, Herr Heinzius,” answered a 
woman’s voice. “Will you not walk in and sit 
down ? I have not done packing for Herr 
Wellner, and he has only just sat down to break¬ 
fast.” 

The speaker was Dame Ursula, the worthy 
widow of the late respected toll-clerk Zacharias; 
she had come to the window with the dignity be¬ 
coming her bulky circumference, while Otto Well¬ 
ner, her lodger during the last year and a half, 
called out from the table where he was breakfast¬ 
ing: 





THE WILL. 



3 


“ Come in, come in; we have time enough and 
to spare.” 

“ Oh ! yes, plenty,” said the schoolmaster, and 
he went in. 

“ Sit down, Theodor,” said the other, a man 
of four and twenty, whose handsome young face 
was full of eagerness and excitement. “Who 
knows how many years I may wander in the land 
before that mysterious abstraction we call Fate 
throws us together again for a comfortable 
hour !” 

“ Well, you are not going to the other side of 
the world,” said the schoolmaster. “ Seven miles ! 
What are seven miles when once you know the 
road ? — though to be sure travelling costs a 
fortune, and if you do not come here. . .” 

“There you go again! Do you know, Heinzius, 
that your mismanagement often makes me quite 
cross. A schoolmaster is not a Croesus, but still— 
if you did not spend every penny on books and 
instruments, and if you had not wasted the 
precious hours which you really might have put 
to far greater profit—yes, I say wasted them. 

“ Indeed, it is quite true, Herr Heinzius,” said 
the portly widow bringing him a cup. “ Herr 
Otto’s father was often quite angry because you— 
because. . 

I * 


/ 


4 


THE WILL. 


“ Well, and what then,” exclaimed Heinzius 
defiantly. “ Is it a crime to have given the boy a 
little of what I possess myself and without being 
any the poorer myself? Teaching is my hobby, 
so to speak. . 

“No doubt — but Herr Otto himself. . 

“Says just what his father said before him,” 
added Heinzius. “ I tell you what my good woman; 
do you give your mind to your coffee —which is 
first-rate, by the way—and let me alone with your 
lecturing. Did Otto force himself on me let me 
ask ? Or was it I who invited him to come to me ? 
It was for my own pleasure, my worthy woman, 
for my own particular satisfaction, dcliciae meae ; 
and an honest man does not take payment for 
that.” 

“ A queer theory !” said Otto. “ But though 
you are so obstinate. . .” 

“ Now you are beginning,” muttered Hein¬ 
zius. 

Otto slapped him on the shoulder. 

“ I know, you will take no thanks, so I am go¬ 
ing to try ingratitude. Where do you find it 
written that you have done me a service that was 
really worth doing? Ha — that is a startling 
suggestion ! But there is something in it never¬ 
theless. Without the learning that you have in- 


THE WILL. 


5 


fused into my brain I should, probably be to this 
day just what I was at first: your subordinate 
and colleague as a teacher, a humble “ well-trained 
young man” — as the parson says, with no kind 
of ambition, looking up with reverence to my 
worthy but very limited superiors. — And it was 
you who crammed my head with new ideas and 
dreams — with the absurd notion that I was an 
artist, because I can draw better than the gener¬ 
ality of men. And for three years I believed you, 
till I got a lesson; a lesson that still hurts, my 
dear Heinzius ! Then I was an ardent Darwinist! 
That fairly carried me to the clouds ! And now 
Darwinism has brought me into trouble. When 
the gentlemen at Gernsheim heard of that it was 
all up with the long-hoped-for appointment—and 
so I must be off with the small remains of my 
pocket-money, and take my chance of what may 
turn up.” 

“ Villain !” exclaimed Heinzius. “ By Heaven ! 
I might take it to heart, only I know you did not 
always speak so. Well, you might have been a 
schoolmaster no doubt, to this hour — but what 
then ? I do not refer merely to the miserable pay, 
though that, too, weighs in the scale. For me it is, 
of course, amply sufficient, — but you, my dear 
boy, are made of different stuff Still, irrespective 


6 


THE WILL. 


of that, what business has an eagle in a sparrow’s 
nest ? No, no ; you must go — take your chance 
for all I care, but go you must.” 

“Yes, you are right!” replied the younger 
man. “ I cannot do with this dreary daily grind. 
I feel that I cannot rest — that I must go, that I 
need a wider life and higher ends. It was only 
for my father’s sake, and then for yours, that I 
could bear this narrow and cloudless existence — 
now, I know that I can endure it no longer. I am 
off and away, Heinzius — I must have gone, even 
if it had not proved necessary. I will find a place 
in the world, a position that I can fill in society— 
some comfort for my discontented soul. I will 
forget all I have suffered and seek a new and busy 
life—excitement, bustle, madness, call it what you 
will. . .” 

“ So you think,” replied the schoolmaster. 
“But I know you better. Learning, Science — 
nay at length perhaps Art which you have so 
wilfully forsworn — will at length prevail over the 
recklessness of youth. You are not one of those 
whose heads can be turned by the vanities of the 
world; you will always know and remember 
where to find true happiness and pure joys; not 
in superficial novelty, but in your own soul.” 

He had risen from his seat and set his hat, 


THE WILL. 


7 


brushed to baldness, on his head with a determined 
air; then he took his iron-shod staff from the cor¬ 
ner. He looked quite enterprising as he stood by 
Otto, waiting while the widow adjusted the straps 
of a tightly-packed knapsack to the shoulders of 
her departing lodger. 

“Now,” said Otto, taking up his straw hat. 

Now,” repeated Heinzius : “Away — to the 
land flowing with milk and honey!” He put 
a good face on the matter, but it was clear never¬ 
theless that he felt the parting keenly. Otto’s de¬ 
parture for the capital deprived him of his greatest 
friend; for an intimacy had gradually grown up 
between the master and pupil which, within the 
last year, had developed into cordial affection. 

The ill-matched pair walked arm in arm 
through the town and out of the gate. The school¬ 
master intended to accompany the young travel¬ 
ler as far as Gernsheim, the chief town within 
reach. As his feelings by degrees became too 
much for him he flourished his stick more vigor¬ 
ously, like a student practising cut and thrust at 
an imaginary foe. This served as a lightning con¬ 
ductor for his agitated spirits. For some minutes 
neither of them spoke; each had enough to think 
of indeed, for Otto was fully alive to the gravity 
of the occasion. 


8 


THE WILL. 


“ What a lovely day!” said the schoolmaster 
at length, controlling his voice with an effort. 
“ The sky is as blue and the woods are as thick and 
green as though in all time there were no such 
thing as autumn !” He threw back his head and 
inhaled the fresh air with a deep breath; a tinge 
of color reddened his thin cheeks and his eyes 
seemed brighter and larger than usual. 

“ I envy you ?” sighed Otto. 

“ What for ?” 

“For your gift of feeling happy; for your 
sunny and God-sent capacity for raving.” 

“ As if you yourself were not equally enrap¬ 
tured by all the enchanting legends that surround 
us ; as if you were incapable of raving!” 

“Perhaps — but still with a difference. I look 
round on the world as a man who admires a 
glorious picture. You view as a prince might 
contemplate a limitless dominion, saying to him¬ 
self : ‘ And all this is mine !’ ” 

And so talking they went on their way, till, 
after walking at a good pace for about an hour, 
Heinzius stopped for a moment and drew his hand 
out of his companion’s arm. The road was up-hill, 
&nd walking and talking had put the frail little 
man quite out of breath; he coughed a little, un¬ 
buttoned his coat, and then, passing his hand over 


THE WILL. 


9 


his forehead, he said: “We have run like the 
coopers — si verbo licet uti vulgari. Let us sit 
down a minute on the bridge yonder.” 

A few paces before them the road led across a 
half-empty brook ; they sat down on the stone 
parapet of the little bridge. 

“ Thank God for that!” muttered Heinzius. 
Wellner looked in his face. 

“ You used to be a hardy mountaineer,” he 
said as he laid aside his knapsack; “ but seriously, 
you look quite knocked up. Here, try this.” 

He had opened the knapsack and handed a 
straw-covered flask to his comrade who drank. 

“Good!” he said, wiping his mouth. “I do 
not know what had taken me by the throat.” He 
returned the flask to Otto who tried to push it 
back into its place; but his worthy dame had 
taken such careful advantage of every inch of 
space to pack in half-a-hundred indispensable 
things, that this was a difficult matter; the school¬ 
master, anxious to help, made it impossible, and 
there was nothing for it but to take everything 
out and pack it all over again. 

Heinzius watched the proceeding with eager 
interest; so many things were displayed to his 
gaze — objects of mere luxury from his philo¬ 
sophical point of view, though most men would 


10 


THE WILL. 


have regarded them as indispensable to a decent 
toilet and a very moderate degree of personal 
comfort. 

“ Hey ! and what is this ?” he suddenly asked, 
pointing to a large thin packet wrapped in whitey- 
brown paper. 

“That?” repeated Otto. “Oh! all sorts of 
things. . .” 

“ An exact statement I must say ! Look here, 
youngster — what is wrong with you? You are 
quite put out of countenance — like a girl caught 
by her father in a clandestine correspondence.” 

“You really think . . . ?” 

“ Certainly, I think — I only hope that you 
never would, without saying a word about it— I 
tell you frankly, it would hurt me deeply! You 
ought to have no secrets from me.” 

Otto looked up; the schoolmaster’s eyes 
twinkled with emotion and his ugly, meagre face 
was full of kindness and affection. Yes, he would, 
he must, now, at the eleventh hour, tell his faith¬ 
ful old friend a secret which he had hitherto kept 
as though it were some fatal word which, uttered 
before the time, might entail death. But Heinzius 
might help him to solve the mystery. 

Glancing cautiously up and down the road to 
see whether any uninvited third person were likely 


THE WILL. 


11 

to disturb them, he untied the string which fast¬ 
ened the packet 

“ You must forgive me,” he said gravely, “for 
never having spoken of the matter till now. I 
have kept it from you simply and only because 
my father enjoined such absolute secrecy. But I 
have always said to myself that you, at any rate, 
my best friend, must be told of it sooner or later; 
and indeed, your keen judgment may perhaps 
throw some light on what is certainly a most 
strange and mysterious affair. Even a guess, if it 
affords a clue, will be thankfully received.” 

He had unfolded the wrapper on the coping of 
the wall, setting the knapsack on it to keep it 
steady; he now opened a grey cardboard case, 
out of which he took a large letter, sealed with 
five seals. 

“You see this,” he said. “Inside this en¬ 
velope lies the answer to a riddle which has cost 
me many hours of cogitation and anxious deliber¬ 
ation.” 

“ But why weary your brain when you might 
break the seals ?” 

“ Because that is exactly what I may not do. 
Look at this—written and signed by myself on the 
margin of the wrapper. Read it — word for word; 
that will save all further explanations.” 


12 


THE WILL. 


The schoolmaster, lost in bewilderment, took 
up the packet. The note on the envelope was as 
follows: 

“ When my father, Gottfried Georg Franz Well- 
ner, bookbinder of Halldorf, gave me this packet, 
sealed with five seals, and had assured me, before 
God and on his solemn word, that it contained 
nothing but some letters, and nothing relating 
either to money or estate, I, Otto Wellner, his son, 
solemnly swore and vowed to take the utmost care 
of this, the said packet, and never to open it un¬ 
til, in spite of my best and most earnest efforts, I 
found myself in absolute want, or else should be 
constantly unfortunate in my business or profes¬ 
sion ; and in the latter contingency not to open it 
till I had completed my twenty-sixth year. And 
in the event of such need never overtaking me, to 
leave this, the said packet intact. Any infringement 
of this solemn promise I am to regard not merely 
as a dishonorable breach of faith, but as a crime 
which will bring disgrace on my father’s memory. 
I write this with my own hand and with a full un¬ 
derstanding of the sacredness of a solemn 
promise. 

“ Otto Wellner.” 

The schoolmaster shook his head as he re¬ 
turned the mysterious Will to his friend. 


THE WILL. 


13 


“ It is strange !” he said a little stiffly. “ And 
this, you say, has cost you weeks of anxiety and 
unrest ?” 

“Thisr—and my father’s proceedings about it 
altogether. I shall never forget it so long as I live. 
He was ill, as you know, for some months; but I 
had no suspicion that the end was near. I trusted in 
the finer season, and my own youthful vigor made 
death seem an impossibility — and when one day 
I went into his room and he wearily beckoned me 
to him and clasped me in his arms as if he were 
taking leave of me forever—I knew then.” 

“ He spoke to me quite calmly of his approach¬ 
ing end, as a man who had long been ready for the 
worst. Every word he spoke went to my heart; 
an awful weight seemed to crush my breast; I fell 
at his feet and threw my arms round his knees, 
and I longed to shriek and cry but I felt paralyzed, 
body and soul. And then, in the midst of that 
terrible struggle, to go through that solemn and 
mysterious business — the impression was awful, 
never-to-be-forgotten !” 

He wrapped the packet up in its covers; the 
reminiscence had made him tremulous. The 
image of his father, whom he had devotedly 
loved, rose before him undimmed by the lapse of 
years, reviving a sorrow which had been lived 


14 


THE WILL. 


down but never killed and buried. The memory 
of that father’s calm, wise and beneficent life filled 
him with regrets beyond words. Eccentric — an 
oddity — that was what the foolish outside world 
had called him, never understanding the man that 
lived within that shell of singularity; but now, 
better than ever, Otto knew how far superior that 
simple honest soul had been to the worldly-wise 
who had laughed at him; there was a sort of envy 
in his admiration of the dead, who had borne his 
suffering as a visitation of God, who had never 
known what it was to crave for the unattainable, 
who had possessed the great panacea against all 
grief and disappointment: Patience and self-denial. 

The schoolmaster sat in silence on the parapet 
of the bridge, drawing outlines in the dust with 
the ferule of his stick; presently he sprang up. 

“ I tell you what!” he exclaimed slapping his 
friend Otto on the shoulder: “ If I were you I 

would put aside all serious consideration of the 
matter till further notice, just as you have put by 
the letter in the knapsack. When I get home 
again I will try if I can make anything of the rid¬ 
dle. But for the present forget it all. Let us 
make the most of our walk through this lovely val¬ 
ley as if it were for the last time — and so it is for 
the last time, at any rate for the present!” 


THE WILL. 


IS 

“You are right,” replied Otto. “ Question me, 
and turn it over in your mind — but not now. On 
we go!” 

They set out again, but more slowly than be¬ 
fore, and as they reached Gernsheim the church 
clock of St. Sophia’s struck half-past twelve. 


CHAPTER II. 

Otto Wellner and Karl Theodor Heinzius 
went to the “ Golden Anchor ” in a humble street 
near the market-place. Of the seven inns of 
Gernsheim the “ Golden Anchor ” was the least 
pretentious. When they had brushed and washed 
off a little of the dust of the high-road they went 
into the inn parlor, where a tall, fair waiting-maid 
was just bringing in the soup. Ten or twelve 
guests were seated at the table — commercial 
travellers, countrymen in the old Franconian 
costume, a tall, lank student, and a few others less 
easy to identify. 

Heinzius, who could not squeeze out ninety 
pfennige for the dinner, was at first inclined to go 
out at once to the house of the post-mistress, who 
was his aunt by marriage, but Otto, with the 


16 


THE WILL. 


proud wealth of youth, made it a pleasure to invite 
his former master to be his guest, and Heinzius 
gladly accepted. As they took their seats—the 
schoolmaster in his excitement nearly forgetting 
to take off his hat — the silent circle looked up ; 
some of them, especially a square-built, stunted in¬ 
dividual who sat with his elbows far on the table, 
seemed to scent amusement, and as they inspected 
the closely-buttoned frock-coat and the grotesque 
embarrassment of the wearer they were evidently 
on the verge of a titter. The square-built fellow 
twisted his straw-colored moustache, nudged his 
neighbor—a hungry-looking commercial traveller 
who was giving his whole mind to spooning up 
his soup — and cleared his throat, twinkling his 
eyes with malicious significance. Otto felt the 
hot blood mount in his cheeks. He himself was 
not blind to the eccentricity of his companion’s 
appearance but he instinctively denied every other 
man’s right to see anything ridiculous in the friend 
he honored and loved — especially did he rebel 
against it in that hawk-nosed rascal at the head of 
the table. He turned so as to face him and fixed 
a piercing eye on the coarse, brutal countenance ; 
the man flinched a little, like a boy caught in mis¬ 
chief, but instantly his expression changed and he 
returned the stare with threatening defiance. He 


THE WILL. 


17 


threw himself back at full length in his chair, 
shrugged his shoulders, muttered something 
between his teeth, of which Otto caught only a 
word or two, and finally spit under the table with 
ostentatious vehemence; but as nothing further 
came of it and the merriment of the rest of the 
party was altogether damped Otto took no notice 
of his demonstrations. 

Heinzius, who had observed nothing of all this, 
fell to his dinner with an appetite that did him 
credit, disposing of the thin soup with wonderful 
rapidity; then, crossing his arms over his breast, 
he sat lost in contemplation of the waiting-maid 
who was clearing away the soup-plates, beginning 
with Otto’s enemy at the top of the table. And 
in fact the kellnerin — Martha she was called — 
was an uncommonly pretty creature. Tall and 
slight, with a delicate oval face and a mass of light 
hair, the simple reticence of her demeanor was 
curiously out of place in such company. She 
herself seemed to be conscious of this, for her 
long lashes drooped on her cheeks with a look of 
quiet resignation as she went gravely and noise¬ 
lessly about her business. The schoolmaster 
watched her graceful movements and her steady 
and modest attention to her work with evident 
admiration. His wide mouth — nothing else was 


Vol. /. 


2 


18 


THE WILL. 


wide in his pinched thin face—spread to a blissful 
smile and his eyes sparkled as they had before 
that morning in gazing at the dewy autumn 
landscape. 

“ Heinzius !” whispered Otto, perceiving that 
his companion’s platonic enchantment was attract¬ 
ing attention, while the hostile stranger had 
turned to his neighbor saying : 

“ I say, Arthur, what do you think of that ? 
We shall see the scarecrow next — out there with 
a high-hat — casting sheep’s eyes at pretty 
Martha !” 

He pointed out of window to a plot of 
beans in the inn-garden, where they could see a 
scarecrow made of a pole about as tall as a man 
with a cross-lath to represent arms. The top of 
this artless contrivance was crowned with a tall 
hat set on askew, and but little inferior in the 
whole to the schoolmaster’s head-gear. The 
remark was greeted by a loud laugh at that end 
of the table, and the innocent butt looked first at 
the scarecrow and then at his friend who changed 
color rapidly from white to red and from red to 
white again. Otto poured out a glass of wine 
with a trembling hand, drank a few drops and then 
said to the insolent ruffian. 

“ You seem remarkably merry; but you will 


THE WILL. 


l 9 


allow me to observe that your merriment irritates 
me. You will have the goodness to postpone it 
till after dinner.” 

“ What next ?” retorted the square-built man. 
“ We are all equal here !” 

“ A pretty thing indeed !” the traveller threw 
in. 

“ Please God a man may laugh if he has a 
mind to,” >said a third, thumping the table with 
his fist. 

Heinzius meanwhile, knowing his friend’s 
irascible nature, had kneaded his feet vigorously 
under the table, whispering to him in imploring 
accents : “ Acquam memento / ” or “Fac ut taceas ! ” 
At length, whether his warnings had their effect, 
or whether Otto thought it beneath his dignity to 
have a regular quarrel with his ruffianly foe, the 
young man controlled himself so far as to answer 
politely: 

“ Do not misunderstand me pray. Laugh as 
much as you like, but do not outrage the rights 
which I also have a claim to.” 

His calm, but determined tone did not fail of 
its effect; the leader of the jest muttered some¬ 
thing inaudible under his moustache, and began 
to devour his meat with vulgar greediness. 

When dinner was over Otto and the school- 


20 


THE WILL. 


master went to their room ; on the stairs the inn¬ 
keeper came up to them, respectfully begging 
their pardon for the allusions made to the scare¬ 
crow. 

“ That fellow Peltzer is always in mischief,” he 
said with much annoyance. “ I should have for¬ 
bidden him to show his face here long ago, but 
he is an ugly customer to have a quarrel with. 
When once he takes a spite against a fellow he does 
not care what he does.” 

“ Peltzer is the ugly brute’s name then ?” 

“ Ephraim Peltzer,” repeated the host. “ He 
works in the tobacco factory — Hesselt & Co. — 
and is a first-rate workman they say, who can do 
anything he has a mind to. He earns a pretty 
penny, too,—I do not know what wages he gets, 
but it must be something more than the common 
run, he has more than he knows what to do with. 
He has not his match for impudence and he is 
well educated, too—well I have said enough about 
him.” 

“ Educated !” said the schoolmaster. “ In what 
way ?” 

“Well they think a good deal of him here 
among his own set, and if there is anything going 
forward he is at the bottom of it; then he has 
learnt many things that give him an advantage. 


THE WILL. 


21 


He was three years in a lawyer’s office and writes 
as fast and as glib as a schoolmaster, and he has 
picked up all sorts of dodges; he knows how to 
summons a man that won’t pay up, and little 
things of that kind. In short, all I can say is 
that I hope you will not take it ill in me. . 

Otto reassured him on that point and the 
friends went up-stairs. Otto opened the bedroom 
window and threw himself on the bed, while 
Heinzius sat down on the only chair. 

“ I say,” Otto presently began, “it might 
really have been very awkward. What possessed 
you to sit staring in blank rapture at that girl ? 
You — a schoolmaster— four and thirty — and to 
make such eyes at her. . 

Heinzius bit his lip. 

“You are right,” he said in a low voice, “it 
was rash. I know how ready the profane are to 
misinterpret that kind of admiration.” 

“ Did you really think the girl so wonderfully 
attractive !” 

“ Beyond all words ! She has the cheek and 
chin of the Venus of Cnidus—and what lovely 
hair! the broad waves of the Ludovisi Juno!” 

Otto raised his head. 

“ Heinzius !” he exclaimed, “ I really believe 
you have fallen in love in your old age !” 




22 


THE WILL. 


“ I ? What are you thinking of? Do you 
know what it means to be in love ?” 

“ Well,” laughed Otto, “ the definition certainly 
formed no part of our studies, but still I fancy. . 

“You know nothing about it,” his friend 
declared. “To be in love with a girl is to thrill 
in every fibre of your heart with the longing to 
make her your own, to kiss her, to marry her. 
And do you really believe that I, Karl Theodor 
Heinzius. . . It is ridiculous, preposterous !” 

There was a pause. Heinzius had taken his 
chair to the window; Otto, who was sleepy after 
his long walk and hearty dinner, shut his eyes, and 
when, presently, the schoolmaster again spoke he 
only stammered a vague reply. His thoughts 
faded into dreams and he was asleep. 

An hour and a half later he was roused by the 
neighing and trampling of horses, and springing 
up he looked at his watch. Heinzius had mean¬ 
while stretched himself on the bed and seemed to 
be sleeping peacefully. Wellner rose very quietly 
in order not to disturb him and went to the win¬ 
dow. Down in the courtyard he saw a well- 
dressed man who sprang lightly from his saddle 
and after patting his horse — a handsome black 
beast — on the shoulder, gave some brief orders 
to the waiter who went out to meet him. Then, 


THE WILL. 


23 


raising his hat, he wiped his brow with a bordered 
handkerchief which he then stuck knowingly in 
the left-hand breast pocket of his well-fitting frock 
coat, and went into the house, slashing the dust 
off his boots with his riding-whip. Otto had 
watched all the proceedings of this new-comer 
— a man of about five and twenty — with 
eager interest. He bore every indication of being 
rich and a man of birth and good breeding; how, 
then, came he to put up at this low tavern, cheek- 
by-jowl, so to speak, with the commercial traveller 
and the ruffianly Peltzer ? The contrast was so 
striking that it was quite clear that something out 
of the common must lie at the bottom of the 
matter. 

Pondering on these things Otto turned away 
from the window and in a few minutes his travel¬ 
ling-companion woke. 

“ That was a strange dream !” he said pulling 
himself up. “ I saw you on horseback riding in 
triumph along the Via Sacra at Rome. You were 
in armor like a conqueror, and the women and 
girls flung garlands of laurel at your feet. — Well, 
habeat sibi. Back to real life once more ! I think 
that if we were to explore the streets of Gernsheim, 
it would be an edifying way of filling up the 
afternoon till supper-time.” 


24 


THE WILL. 


“ By all means !” said Otto. 

Heinzius took out of the travelling-bag with 
Bon voyage on it, a brush and gave his hat an 
affectionate and beautifying touch. Then they 
went down-stairs. 

“To the left, my friend!” cried Heinzius, as 
Otto turned to the right. Otto, however, thought 
he remembered exactly that the stairs leading to 
the street went off to the right; he was mistaken: 
the door they opened led into the garden. 

I told you so,” said the schoolmaster. “I knew 
it — topography was always my strong point. 
However, as we are here — we can walk through 
the town presently. I love a kitchen-garden with 
its box-hedged paths and fruit-trees and raspberry- 
bushes ; it reminds me of my childhood.” 

They walked on down the middle path; the 
September sun poured a flood of warm light on 
the little plot of ground that was full of herbs and 
vegetables — beans, turnips, cabbages, and pota¬ 
toes ; in the narrow borders between the raspberry 
and currant-bushes bloomed asters and monthly 
roses, and ripe fruit weighed down the apple and 
pear-trees, while the faint hum of bees filled the 
air and grasshoppers chirped plaintively in the 
grass-plot. Presently they came to a path cross¬ 
ing the one they were in, and turned off towards 


THE WILL. 


25 


a little summer-house, overgrown with wild vine 
and standing in the middle of a circular plot. 

Heinzius pressed his companion’s arm signifi¬ 
cantly ; on a wooden bench outside the summer¬ 
house, under the shade of a patriarchal pear-tree, 
sat the fair-haired Martha, bending over a sieve 
in her lap ; by her side was a casket full of beans. 
In front of her, leaning against an espalier, stood 
the tall horseman whose arrival Otto Wellner had 
watched just now. 

The two friends had got so far unperceived, 
for they had been walking on the grass and their 
footsteps were noiseless. 

“Indeed!” muttered Otto.—“Well, I might 
have guessed it!” 

Martha stooped lower and lower over her task 
and her cheeks glowed crimson. The stranger 
must have said something very interesting ; 
indeed, his demeanor betrayed it, for he nodded 
several times with more energy than became his 
attitude of elegaftt nonchalance. Then he appar¬ 
ently pitched his discourse in a different key; 
with his hand against the post he gracefully lifted 
his right foot behind his left and coquetted with 
his whip on the gravel. In short, there could be 
no doubt that the gentleman was courting the 
fair Martha, and with as much display of courtesy 


26 


THE WILL. 


as he might have used in a splendid drawing¬ 
room, in addressing the daughter of a millionaire 
or a lady of high degree. He struck his boot 
smartly with his whip as if to emphasize some 
insinuating argument, and Martha looked up. — 
She at once saw the schoolmaster and his com¬ 
rade. 

A deeper dye mounted to her face and she 
faintly exclaimed : “ Oh !”, her knife slipped to the 
ground and she stooped again, in utter confusion, 
over the sieve full of cut beans. The cavalier 
looked round and a cloud fell on his handsome 
brow; the interruption, it was evident, was from 
his point of view most unlucky, and the nervous 
irritation with which he twisted his moustache was 
distinctly defiant. If Heinzius had been alone it 
is not improbable that the excited hero might have 
risked a demonstration and an effective little scene, 
for the schoolmaster’s unconcealed embarrassment 
promised an easy triumph and rout of the in¬ 
truder ; but, as it was, he subdued the expression 
of his annoyance, contenting himself with hastily 
leaving Martha to recover herself and coming 
forward, just touching his hat, to ask the intruders 
“ whom they were seeking ?” 

A strange sensation came over Wellner as the 

* 

young man approached. He would not perhaps 


THE WILL. 


2/ 


have owned it, even to himself, but the stranger’s 
whole appearance — the faultless fit of his riding- 
coat, the brilliant neatness of his get-up, the per¬ 
fect ease and confidence of his manner, impressed 
him greatly. For the first time in his experience 
it occurred to him that the lame tailor at Hall- 
dorf, who had just made his grey and brown- 
checked summer-suit, was not so finished an artist 
as he proclaimed himself. Why, in all Halldorf 
there was not a man half so well dressed as this 
young fellow in his riding-coat; and what was 
strange about it was that his clothes had not the 
slightest appearance of smartness, or Sunday-best. 
Everything he had on was perfectly simple and 
worn as a matter of course, from the silver- 
mounted whip to the buckskin glove which fitted 
his hand as if it had been moulded on it. Otto 
thought of a pair of gloves that Mrs. Ursula 
Zacharias, the toll-gate keeper’s widow, had given 
him on his last birthday; they were in his knap¬ 
sack, carefully wrapped in paper with some other 
treasures, but he could see them now with the 
ugly wrinkles they had taken, and those wrinkles 
he suddenly felt to be irredeemably vulgar. 

His honest shame at feeling thus and his effort 
to get the better of it roused a spirit of opposition 
in him; he imitated the young man’s gesture, 


28 


THE WILL. 


raising his hat a little, and asked, for lack of any¬ 
thing better to say: 

“ And may I ask whom I have the honor of 
addressing ?” 

“ My name is Hellwald, Benno Hellwald,” said 
the young man. 

“And mine is Wellner, Otto Wellner.” 

Heinzius now also made his bow and with the 
greatest politeness announced his name and attri¬ 
butes. Encouraged by the schoolmaster’s extreme 
deference the horseman repeated his former en¬ 
quiry. 

“Perhaps,” he added with a suspicion of 
irony, “ I may be able to save you any further 
exploration of the place.” 

The haughty politeness with which the words 
were uttered added to the irritation of Wellner’s 
temper. 

“You are too kind,” he said with a similar in¬ 
flection, “ but to explore the place was precisely 
our intention.” 

Hellwald colored. 

“Pray do so,” he said sarcastically. “ I have 
no wish to interfere with your enjoyment. I may 
however, be allowed to express a hope that for the 
future you will not creep quite so noiselessly be¬ 
hind the bushes. This young lady was dreadfully 


THE WILL. 


29 


startled—indeed, it is not pleasant to be so sud¬ 
denly. . 

“ I do not understand you,” interrupted Otto 
sharply, for Hellwald’s tone was rather that of a 
master lecturing his pupils. “ All I gather from 
your words is that you are very indignant at the 
interruption to your—conversation. That is your 
affair and you must settle it with Chance that 
brought us this way. If you think you can use 
me as a conductor for your ill-humor I may as 
well warn you that I am a very bad one.” 

The young gentleman twitched his whip in a 
way that seemed to hint that he would like to 

•v 

answer his antagonist with that; but Otto looked 
him in the face with such cool contempt and stood 
so firm and defiant that Benno Hellwald preferred 
to let the movement pass as an involuntary ges¬ 
ture and turn his back on Wellner. 

“ Eamus /” whispered Heinzius, half in com¬ 
mand and half in entreaty, and seeing Otto hesi¬ 
tate he gently grasped his arm. “ Compesce un- 
das ! Smooth down the waves of your wrath,” 
he said as Otto gave way. “ You have paid him 
out.” 

“ Let it drop,” said Otto. “ Well, my journey 
has begun well certainly — first that brute at din- 
— and now . . . Come away.” 


ner 


30 


THE WILL. 


They went back into the house; in the door¬ 
way they found the stable-lad who had taken 
charge of Benno Hellwald’s horse. He was sitting 
in the sunshine, devouring a hunch of bread and 
butter; on the ground, close at hand, was a jug of 
beer. 

“ Is it good ?” said Heinzius. 

“ It might be worse,” retorted the man. 

“ Might be worse! What do you mean ?” 

“ It is only a way of speaking. I picked it up 
from Herr Peltzer.” 

“ I do not understand.” 

“Well, you know — but no, you are strangers 
in these parts — Peltzer is a great socialist and 
democrat, and since Herr Meynert made his first 
speech here I have joined their party.” 

“ Meynert ?” said Otto, while the man munched 
on with evident satisfaction. “ Is that the notori¬ 
ous speaker on social questions ?” 

“ I suppose so; for Peltzer always calls him 
the great Meynert. And he is a sharp one, that 
no one can deny. Twice already he has had to 
pay dearly for his pranks, but he will not give in. 
You should hear him explain — as clear as day he 
makes it — how nothing is as it should be in this 
wretched world, and how different it would be if 
he only got a chance of setting things to rights.— 


THE WILL. 


31 


I myself, now, I am not, as you may say, badly 
off— I get my wages regular, and the beer is the 
best for twenty miles round. But when I heard 
Meynert talk I thought to myself what a miserable 
fellow I was, and I said to myself: ‘Jacob,’ said 
I, ‘how can you put up with such a state of 
things ? Is it worthy of your dignity as a man ?’— 
‘Your dignity as a man’ is one of his favorite 
words you know. Three times I have heard him 
speak — talk, talk, talk, and it always comes back 
to that: ‘ Your dignity as a man.’ And for three 
days after I can keep it in my head. — As I clean 
the boots I say to myself: ‘Jacob,’ I say, ‘ it is 
beneath your dignity as a man.’ As I clean out 
the stable, between two barrow-loads of litter, I 
lean the fork against the door-post and double my 
fists as I think to myself: ‘ This can’t last for¬ 

ever.’ But then, just as Meynert says, by degrees 
I lose my ‘ manly pride,’ and as I might perhaps 
even forget that I belong to them at all I have 
got myself into the habit of using certain words— 
sets of words, you know, just to remind myself as 
Peltzer says. It is my misfortune, as I may say, 
that nothing comes amiss to me by way of food, 
and that I am strong and handy and can do a 
good stroke of work without turning a hair.” 

It happened that neither Heinzius nor Wellner 


32 


THE WILL. 


had hitherto had much opportunity of making any 
intimate acquaintance with the working of the 
great social question which has set the lower classes 
in a ferment. At Halldorf, which was not a centre 
of any particular industry, its influence had not 
become directly perceptible, and the schoolmaster 
for his part, was busy with other things; he hated 
everything that tended to create division. The 
dissensions rife in Church, State, and Society, ap¬ 
peared to him a serious evil and Otto had insen¬ 
sibly adopted his views. Notwithstanding — or 
perhaps for this very reason — the confidences of 
the talkative stable-lad had somewhat excited him. 
He suddenly found himself face to face with facts 
and feelings which hitherto had been as far from 
his ken as the conspiracy of the Gracchi, and it 
moved him strangely. He would gladly have pro¬ 
longed the conversation, but in the distance he saw 
Herr Benno Hellwald, slowly coming up the 
garden path. Heinzius was in mortal terror, and 
even Otto, mistrusting his own self-command, 
thought it prudent to avoid another meeting. 

The friends went past the serving man through 
the house and into the street. They spent the 
rest of the day until it was quite dark in wander¬ 
ing through the streets and alleys of the irregular 
little town — past taverns nestling between fac- 


THE WILL. 


33 


tories, like the sparrows’ nests among those of the 
storks — across the market-place, where dense 
knots of craftsmen, smoking short clay-pipes, were 
collected in noisy discussion—through the sub¬ 
urban avenues, where love-making couples were 
enjoying the sweet September evening. And 
when they got back to their inn they sat up talk¬ 
ing over the past and the future and gazing out 
on the starry sky. 

It struck nine — half past; the quaint gables 
of the inn-yard showed clearly in the moonlight. 
Suddenly there was a bustle and clatter down 
there. The stable help fetched out Jpferr Benno 
Hellwald’s black steed and then Otto heard, in a 
low voice : “Very much obliged, sir,” and the 
sharp clang of the hoofs on the stone pavement. 

“ Only going now !” muttered Otto. 

The friends resumed their conversation, for the 
themes were inexhaustible, till midnight tolled 
ominously from the belfry. Then, with a warm 
clasp of the hands they went to bed. 


Vol. i. 


3 




34 


CHAPTER III. 

The sun was high next morning before the 
friends parted finally. The schoolmaster walked 
away to the left with unwonted haste; Otto Well- 
ner to the right. The weather was splendid — 
pleasanter even than the day before, for there was 
a light breeze from the north-west. Otto was still 
above two hours and a half from Londorf; there 
he proposed to take the train for the rest of his 
journey. He went steadily forward without look¬ 
ing round ; he felt conscious of the tear-dimmed 
eyes of his worthy old friend behind him. 

After walking an hour he came to that splen¬ 
did grove of beech-trees which extends from the 
beautifully-situated village of Oberhorchheim for 
about half a mile to the eastward, and which is 
carefully kept, with benches placed here and there 
for the convenience of the numerous wealthy 
citizens who have country-houses in the neighbor¬ 
hood, or who take lodgings there for the summer 
months. The fashionable season was by this 
time over; the lodging-house visitors, with few 
exceptions, had departed; only the fortunate 


THE WILL. 


35 


owners of some of the villas still lingered in the 
country. 

The walk between the tall trees with their 
green tops whispering in the wind, was perfectly 
delicious ; he met only an old woman bending 
under a load of fire-wood, and a little ragged girl 
hunting for the few remaining berries of the year; 
then all was solemnly still. 

Suddenly Otto felt himself overcome by a 
languid, irresistible fatigue. He sat down on a 
stone-bench in a bay cut in the wood, folded his 
hands on his stick and gazed at the ground where 
the sunlight, falling through the gaps in the leafy 
roof, played in restless circles on the moss. Pres¬ 
ently he took off his knapsack and placing it on 
the bench to serve as a pillow, he stretched him¬ 
self at full length. However, he soon found his 
hard couch uncomfortable, while his wish to rest 
awhile in this lovely spot was stronger than ever; 
he stood up and looked about him. To his right 
the brambles grew thickly and the ground was 
damp, but on the opposite side of the path, where 
a few hazel trees grew, the brushwood seemed 
thinner. He took up his knapsack and went 
across, and after a short search discovered a hol¬ 
low where the ground was covered with dry moss 
and leaves, making a comfortable bed; he settled 



36 


THE WILL. 


himself very much at ease and stretched himself 
out with the happy satisfaction of a man who, for 
the moment, has left care behind him, closing his 
eyes with a smile of beatitude. 

He was almost asleep, and the events of the 
last few days were fast fading into dream-pictures 
when the sound of a woman’s voice which was 
certainly no part of his dream, roused him to 
consciousness. He peeped between the hazel 
bushes. Two young ladies in fashionable dresses— 
one in white and the other in pink — were coming 
arm in arm along the path from Oberhorchheim. 
The voice he had heard was that of the lady in 
white, a tall, well-built figure of the greatest dis¬ 
tinction — nay so elegant that Otto hardly dared 
take the liberty of thinking how strikingly hand¬ 
some she was. Her straw hat, wreathed with ivy 
and flowers, covered the most splendid dark brown 
hair that he had ever seen ; and her well-fitting 
dress, simple as it was, had that indefinable some¬ 
thing which betrays a lady of the upper class and 
of the capital — that subtle atmosphere of distinc¬ 
tion which crushes while it charms the native of a 
provincial town, however exalted his social posi¬ 
tion. A cream-colored fan of satin and ivory 
hung from her waist-band. Her companion, a tall, 
fair girl with a round baby-face and frank blue 


THE WILL. 


37 


eyes, had not the elastic grace of the darker 
beauty, but her dress and demeanor none the less 
revealed a lady accustomed to ease and good 
society. 

“ Well, just as you like,” said the fairer lady 
with a smile. “ If you are determined I can but 
submit. But at the present moment — as I am 
getting tired. . .” 

“ Tired ! Camilla ! How can you feel tired in 
this refreshing shade ? However, if you want to 
rest before we turn back, we are close to ‘ Ellinor’s 
seat’. . .” 

• \ 

Otto now observed that a tablet was affixed to 

the trunk of the great beech-tree behind the 
stone-bench. He had cautiously raised himself to 
a sitting posture and his sleepiness had entirely 
vanished. The ladies seated themselves — the 
tall, handsome one in white, to the left, in the cor¬ 
ner; the fair one more in the middle, but she soon 
moved closer to her companion and laid her head 
on her shoulder. 

Otto’s heart beat fast; never in his life had he 
seen anything at all like the two figures before, 
him — that dark one with the fan must be the 
daughter of a Minister at the very least. At this 
moment a vision flashed upon his mind of the 
dashing young cavalier whom he had seen yester- 


33 


THE WILL. 


day talking to the pretty waiting-maid, and a wild 
longing thrilled through his veins, a longing to be 
such another as Herr Benno Hellwald in presence, 
manner, elegance and ease. 

The two ladies went on talking. 

“ Now do for once be in earnest Camilla,” said 
the darker lady, opening her fan. “You really 
might trust me in the matter. Between sis¬ 
ters. . .” 

“ But, really, Lucinda. . .” murmured Camilla 
looking down. 

“ How you blush — I am afraid, very much 
afraid, that my good counsel comes too late.” 

Otto was hesitating whether, at the risk of 
overhearing a secret, he should keep quiet and 
wait till the ladies had gone on again, or whether 
he might not incur suspicion by revealing his 
presence there, when suddenly the ladies ceased 
speaking and he heard footsteps approaching — 
heavy, clumsy, noisy steps. A few seconds later 
a singular figure entered on the scene from the 
right and flung himself on the seat by the side of 
the two ladies, panting and snorting like some 
animal. Otto at once recognized his foe of the 
previous day at the dinner at the Golden Anchor. 
Ephraim Peltzer wore a broad-fronted cap pulled 
down over his eyes and his coat was buttoned up 


THE WILL. 


39 

to his chin; in his hand he carried a knotted 
cudgel. The ladies did not seem particularly de¬ 
lighted at the sudden propinquity of a traveller 
whose appearance was not such as to inspire confi¬ 
dence— especially Camilla, next to whom he had 
seated himself. 

“ It is growing late, Lucinda,” she said color¬ 
ing. “ Come let us go on.” 

“ Oho !” cried Peltzer, starting up. “ Your 
ladyships object I suppose to sit side by side with 
a dirty workman ! Heh — that’s it, no doubt! 
Whether our feelings are hurt is nobody’s concern; 
we low fellows are only born to be trampled on l 

• v 

But I have had enough of it, and I tell you, once 
for all, it is a game I am sick of playing. Now, 
do you understand ?” And he placed himself close 
in front of the ladies with a threatening swagger, 
as if to hinder their progress. 

Camilla turned pale and Lucinda was evidently 
startled; but she spoke firmly in reply. 

“ You are mistaken; we have no wish to hurt 
or offend you. But we have to get home — that 
is the simple fact. . .” 

“ Indeed !” shouted Peltzer, without stirring an 
inch. “ And how is it, I should like to know, that 
you never thought of that till I sat down beside 
you ? Heaven and Hell! I can tell you I am in 


40 


THE WILL. 


the very mood — this morning a d-d rascal, 

curse him, bid me go to the devil, as if I was a 
mangy dog to be turned out of the kennel, and 
now — I mean to stop here another five minutes, 
and I do not choose that you should run off as if 
I had the leprosy!” 

Lucinda colored indignantly as she rose. 

“ Let us pass,” she said in a tone of deter¬ 
mined command, “ or I will call for help.” 

“ Call away !” laughed Peltzer. “ You are 
generally surrounded, I know, by your police and 
your spies, wherever you go; but here you may 
shout for them as much as you please. Sit down— 
sit down I say ! and you will beg my pardon — 
yes, you — or assure as I live. . 

He had laid his hand on Lucinda’s shoulder, 
but at this instant he found himself seized by the 
collar from behind. With one mighty wrench he 
was flung at full length in among the hazel bushes, 
losing his cap and dropping his stick as he fell. 

“ There!” said Otto, quivering with excite¬ 
ment. “ And now if you say another word I will 
see you somewhere — where men of your kidney 
find short shrift, I can tell you.” 

“ Dog ! cursed hound !” groaned Peltzer slowly 
scrambling on to his knees; his hands were feel¬ 
ing about in the grass that grew by the path, and 



THE WILL. 


41 


before Otto understood what he was doing he had 
dug out a large stone with his fingers and flung it 
with all his force at Otto’s head. A red stream of 
blood trickled down the young man’s face and he 
staggered against the trunk of a tree ; before he 
could recover himself Peltzer had taken to his 
heels. 

The ladies had looked on in silent astonish¬ 
ment till, when the stone hit their companion, 
Camilla had uttered a little cry ; but they both 
seemed stunned with surprise at their unexpected 
rescue. 

“ I must beg your forgiveness. . Otto stam¬ 
mered out, as he pressed his handkerchief to the 
wound ; but he said no more for it struck him as 
absurd and clumsy. What was it that deprived 
him of his presence of mind ? — he was not gen¬ 
erally so easily put out of countenance. The lady 
in white went up to him and expressed in warm 
terms her gratitude and her regret for his injury. 
Otto muttered a few commonplaces: “it was 
nothing to speak of” — “a mere trifle” and the 
like ; but he felt himself no more at ease than be¬ 
fore. However, at her desire he sat down with 
the passive resignation of a lamb, led to slaughter, 
and even managed to smile with sickly vacuity 
while Lucinda pushed back his hair, all matted 


42 


THE WILL. 


with blood, and carefully staunched the wound 
with her fine cambric handkerchief. Camilla 
turned away — she could not bear the sight of 
blood. 

“ Come, come,” said Lucinda presently. “ It 
is not so bad as it might be. Lend me your 
handkerchief; mine will not do to tie it up.” 

Otto was still feeling half stunned. The blow 
from the stone thrown by his infuriated adversary 
had hardly so much to do with it as the kindly at¬ 
tentions of this elegant young woman who, but a 
few minutes ago, was so far from his ken — so un¬ 
approachably above him. A fragrance as of 
violets was wafted to him from the folds of that 
white gown. He felt as if he had fallen asleep on 
the mossy bank and was only dreaming of all this 
pleasantness; at last he plucked up courage and 
spoke again — he moved his lips, but what he 
said and how he said it he had no idea. However, 
by the time that Lucinda had succeeded in tying 
a bandage firmly enough to keep in its place, he 
had told her his name and the object of his jour¬ 
ney ; he had chivalrously disclaimed her repeated 
thanks; he had learnt that the ladies lived in a 
house at Oberhorchheim, at the further end of the 
beechwood; and he had consented to accompany 
them thither and have his wound properly treated 


/ 


THE WILL. 43 

and scientifically dressed by Doctor Fohrenstedt 
the medical man of the district. 

Otto Wellner stood up, his stick in his left 
hand and in his right his straw hat which he care¬ 
fully replaced on his head. The dream in which 
he moved was sweeter and brighter than ever as 
he walked on through the romantic and murmur¬ 
ing grove by the side of the two graceful ladies, as 
though they had been acquainted for years and he 
had never known any other companionship. He 
had learnt that these ladies whom he had rescued 
from the brutal workman were the daughters of 
Commissionsrath von Diiren, the famous publisher, 
and Lucinda was the wife of Doctor Lehrbach, 
a distinguished lawyer who was spending the long 
vacation at Oberhorchheim. Otto had been sur¬ 
prised to hear that she, whose appearance seemed 
to him so much more maidenly than that of her 
younger sister, should be a married woman, but 
he thought no more about the matter, for the 
thing that struck him most was that neither of 
the ladies took any notice of the workman’s knap¬ 
sack which he had shouldered, not without a blush ; 
he did not know that even the gentlemen from the 
capital were fond of making walking tours with a 
bag and staff. By degrees he gained courage, and 
as he shook off the spell of his first embarrass- 


44 


THE WILL. 


ment he talked frankly and freely and so revealed 
the best side of his sensitive nature, which was, in 
fact, all the more attractive and sympathetic from 
the absence of the conventional phrases of draw¬ 
ing-room conversation. Still, he could not bring 
himself to confess that he was going out into the 
world without any definite end or aim, as a quali¬ 
fied teacher; it would have been in such evident 
discord with those refined voices, with the rattle 
of the ivory fan and the rustle of the flowing 
gowns. Nor did he say that he had already met 
the man who had hit him, for the recollection 
brought up the picture of the smoky inn-parlor, 
the low company, and the miserable room which 
he had shared with Heinzius. 

In about half an hour they emerged from the 
wood and reached an iron park-gate. Lucinda 
pushed it open and went in, followed by Otto and 
Camilla. 


CHAPTER IV. 

At the top of a flight of marble steps Otto 
was received by an old man-servant; with a care¬ 
fully-cut short beard and a very stiff and aristo- 


♦ ■ , ' 

THE WILL. 45 

cratic manner, who led him through a pillared 
hall to a little drawing-room, while Camilla van¬ 
ished through the door which gave passage to the 
man-servant, who had been sent by Frau Lehr- 
bach. 

The room in which Otto now found himself 
was very comfortable, not spacious but lofty ; the 
window, hung with heavy dark curtains admitted 
a dim light, being screened outside by the 
branches of a large, knotty acacia. Handsome 
but rather old-fashioned furniture, a wide fireplace 
with a splendid Venetian mirror hanging above it, 
and on each side a bust of yellowish marble on a 
columnar plinth—this was the first impression 
made on his mind. But by degrees he perceived 
a number of minor details which gave the room 
its aspect of finished luxury. 

Wellner took off his hat and pressed his left 
hand to his wound which began to burn ; he in¬ 
stinctively went up to the mirror and looked at 
himself—his face still showed traces of the blood 
and he had to confess that the improvised band¬ 
age, more practical than picturesque, did not add 
to his beauty. He thought to himself that he 
looked just like a country bumpkin who has been 
to a wake, where jugs and chair-legs have been 
freely brought into play. A slight noise inter- 


/ 


46 


THE WILL. 


rupted his meditations; turning round, he saw the 
servant, who placed a silver tray with various 
kinds of refreshment on a bronze table in the 
window. When he had set it down he said very 
civilly: 

“ My master begs you to excuse him as he is 
detained by important business. But the Doctor, 
Herr Fohrenstedt, will be here in a quarter of an 
hour at the latest. Till then would you please to 
take some refreshment.” 

“ Thank you,” said Otto, and the man went 
away as quietly as he had come. Otto went to 
the table and out of the smaller of two cut-glass 
decanters he filled a glass with Spanish wine; the 
rich brown liquor shone against the light with 
gleams of crimson and gold, and had a delicious 
perfume. Otto, who was almost dying of thirst, 
though, during his walk, he had not liked to take 
his common wicker flask out of his pocket, emptied 
the glass at a draught It rushed like fire through 
his veins, burning and yet reviving him — a truly 
magical draught, whose merits might have per¬ 
suaded the worthy Heinzius out of his theoretical 
admiration of the Caecuban and other vintages of 
the ancients. Otto took a second and a third 
glass; he felt its encouaging effect on his now 
half-extinct assurance. After all — what did it 


THE WILL. 


47 


matter if the inhabitants of this lordly residence 
were to know that he was nothing more than 
an unsuccessful schoolmaster, about to start his 
stranded bark on a fresh voyage ? An unsuccess¬ 
ful schoolmaster ! That was the phrase that passed 
through his brain. He could not help laughing, 
and yet he felt a spasm of embarrassment such as 
he had experienced in looking at himself in the 
glass. 

Again the door opened; two gentlemen came 
in. The elder, a man of middle height and rather 
stout, might be about fifty; his round, clean- 
shaved face, with its fresh color and attractive 
features had an expression of genial intelligence. 
This was Doctor Lehrbach. His companion, a man 
of forty, was taller and slighter and wore an un¬ 
commonly handsome, full, dark beard. A pale 
rather worn face, velvety brown eyes with a some¬ 
what rapt expression, fine white hands, a high 
forehead, patent leather boots that creaked dis¬ 
creetly, and a cautious gentle demeanor — com¬ 
bined to give the idea of a man selected by 
Destiny to win the confidence and the passionate 
veneration of the female sex, while men would 
neither understand nor admit his undoubted suc¬ 
cess. Doctor Fohrenstedt could, in fact, boast of 
few friends, but he had a large following of lady- 


48 


THE WILL. 


patients who could be cured of nervousness and 
such ailments by the mere fact of his presence. It 
had even been whispered that he took advantage 
of these personal charms to win triumphs in an¬ 
other department than that of therapeutics; these 
rumors, however, had not availed to imperil him 
in his position as a fashionable physician. He still 
practised in the highest circles of society, and in 
the summer, when he had sent off the last hysteri¬ 
cal old maid to take baths or drink waters, he re¬ 
tired to his villa at Oberhorchheim, within a few 
hundred yards of that of the Von Diirens. 

The elder man spoke first. 

“ My name is Lehrbach,” he said kindly, “and 
I am glad to make the acquaintance of a man who 
knows so well how to deal with tramps and bul¬ 
lies. My wife has told me the whole story and I 
am greatly indebted to you ; but it is a pity that 
it should have ended somewhat tragically. I ven¬ 
tured to disturb our Aesculapius over his oysters 
— Herr Doctor Fohrenstedt, Herr Wellner—I 
think you said ?” 

Otto bowed, the physician almost impercepti¬ 
bly nodded. Under other’ circumstances Otto 
might have paused to wonder why the owner of 
the handsome beard was so frigid in his greeting, 
but there was no time now for such reflections. 


THE WILL. 


49 


That, then, was the husband of the beautiful 
Lucinda! Amiable and polite as Dr. Lehrbach 
was, disappointment—nay vexation—outweighed 
every other sentiment. Lucinda was at most one 
or two and twenty while Lehrbach had seen at 
least fifty summers, though he was still fresh, 
active, and well-preserved. Still, even if he had 
been twenty years younger, he would not in Otto’s 
opinion have been a match for Lucinda. By the 
side of that princess a prince ought to stand — a 
tall, splendid and all-conquering man, a hero to 
whom she might look up to with respect. 

The old man-servant now appeared once more, 
followed this time by the short, round figure of a 
maid carrying a can of water, two basins and 
some linen towels. 

“Put them there, Fanny,” he said with much 
dignity. The girl put the things down on the 
hearthstone; she was evidently anxious to linger 
longer than was necessary ; her eyes wandered to 
right and left, and her attention was divided 
between Otto Wellner and the medical man who 
had gone close to the patient. 

“ Might I trouble you ?” he said, pointing to 
the handkerchief. 

Otto tried to undo the knot, but as he did not 
at once succeed the bare-armed Fanny made bold 


Vo! T. 


4 




50 


THE WILL. 


to offer her services; she, however, twitched and 
pulled without any better success. 

“ There, let it be. . .” said the doctor, and with 
a firm jerk he snatched the bandage off; Otto 
started and winced, for this sudden pull hurt him 
a good deal, and the blood at once flowed again. 

“ Corpo di Bacco /” exclaimed Lehrbach, 
while the servants made their way out of the 
room. “It is a very respectable gash — six or 
eight sutures. . .” 

“ And quite close to the artery,” added 
Fohrenstedt. 

The doctor examined the wound to assure 
himself that there were no splinters of bone to be 
removed, and then set to work with characteristic 
deliberation to sew up the cut which was an inch 
and a half long. When this painful operation was 
ended he no less deliberately washed his hands, 
saying in a low voice: 

“There — now you must lie in bed for five or 
six days. The covering of the bone is injured and 
the flesh-wound a good deal lacerated and bruised. 
If I had time I would come and look at it again ; 
but there is a practitioner from Gernsheim who has 
patients in the neighborhood and who can do 
everything that will be needed. I may take leave 
of you.” 


THE WILL. 


51 


He bowed his handsome head as imperceptibly 
as before, favored the lawyer with a polite smile 
and was gone. 

“Just like him,” said Lehrbach, when his 
footsteps ceased to be audible. “ As exclusive as 
a prince of the blood ! Excepting to ladies—and 
not to all of them. He would not have come at 
all if I had sent a servant, so I went myself, for I 
feared lest delay might be dangerous.” 

He spoke with such genial warmth that Otto 
mentally apologized to Lucinda’s husband for his 
former estimate of him and he heartily thanked 
his new acquaintance for his benevolent 'interest. 

“Nonsense!” said Lehrbach. “Why, you 
have come off worst in the affair. The thanks are 
due from us — my wife and Camilla and me — 
nota bene , from my papa-in-law, too, who offers 
you the use of his house — which is the very least 
he can do.” 

“ I should not like to be troublesome,” stam¬ 
mered Otto. “ If it were in any way possible that 
I should get as far as Londorf. . .” 

“And who is to look after you there? No, 
young man, that is quite out of the question. 
What are there a dozen spare rooms in the house 
for? In short — it is settled already.” He went 
to the door. 





52 


THE WILL. 


“ Holtmann !” he called out, and the man¬ 
servant appeared; in answer to Lehrbach’s en¬ 
quiry he said that everything was ready, and 
added that his master, Herr von Diiren would be 
down in two minutes to bid Herr Wellner wel¬ 
come, here, in the little drawing-room. 

“Very good ; I will leave you in his charge,” 
said Lehrbach giving the young man his hand. 
“ Holtmann, you are to take special care of your 
patient and I will see him every day. And so, 
God bless you, my young friend. Try to be 
patient. It is dull work lying tucked up and out 
of sight with a lump of ice on your head, but no 
one can do it for you. Take care of yourself.” 

He went down the steps into the park and a 
moment after the master of the house came in, a 
tall man with grey hair and strongly marked and 
expressive features, who kept his right hand in the 
breast of his tightly-fitting coat with the dignity 
of a prince holding an audience. He greeted his 
unexpected guest with measured politeness, 
thanked him briefly for the important service he 
had rendered the ladies, lamented the unfortunate 
result, and begged him to follow the servant who 
would show him to a room and take care that 
everything should be provided to enable him to 
carry out the doctor’s orders. If Herr Wellner 


THE WILL. 


53 


wished for anything he had only to mention it to 
Holtmann. 

This was the sum total of the interview. Herr 
von Diiren bowed, it can hardly be said conde¬ 
scendingly but certainly with extreme reserve, and 
went his way. 

Holtmann who had evidently taken his master’s 
peculiarities as his model in more respects than one, 
at once offered to show the young man to his room, 
begging, with mechanical civility, to be excused 
for leading the way. He went across the hall to 
a stair-case of which the thickly carpeted steps — 
like everything else in the house — bore the stamp 
of all-pervading and conscious but not ostentatious 
wealth. A grey-hound that lay sleeping on the 
first landing, with his pointed nose resting on 
his forefeet, did not disturb himself as the two 
men passed him — a plain proof that visitors were 
not infrequent in Herr von Diiren’s villa. The 
huge candelabra, the exotic plants, the marble 
statues which decorated the corridors, and the fine 
pictures by well-known masters that hung on the 
walls, made a great impression on Otto Wellner. 
What enormous sums must have been lavished 
only on the stairs and passages ! — It was evident 
that Herr von Diiren was a perfect Croesus -— 
rolling in gold — and he, Otto Wellner, was to 


54 


THE WILL. 


stay tinder the roof of the millionaire — he whose 
whole possessions would hardly suffice to “tip” 
Holtmann and pretty Miss Fanny if he were to 
attempt to vie in any degree with the magnificence 
that surrounded him. 

The door which the man threw open led into 
a pleasant room with two windows. Miss Fanny 
was standing by a carved oak wash-stand with a 
marble top, where she was filling the cans and 
jugs. 

“ I will send Hans to you,” said Holtmann, 
after he had glanced round the room. “ Here is 
the bell, by the bed, and Hans will always be close 
at hand till you are up again. Now, Fanny, have 
you done ?” 

“ In a minute. Hans will see about the 
ice ?” 

“ Of course,” but he did not go. 

“ You need not wait Holtmann,” said the girl. 
“ I must pin the blinds across; there is such a 
glare.” 

Holtmann disappeared and two minutes later 
was followed by Fanny. Otto, lost in thought, 
was in no mood to begin a conversation as she had 
hoped; but her marked behavior was not lost upon 
him. It was a bold though scarcely an impu¬ 
dent attempt at a flirtation; it was evidently part 


THE WILL. 


55 


of her habits; there was nothing personal in its 
character. An indifferent observer would have 
concluded: “ This girl flirts from a feeling that 

every presentable individual of the stronger sex 
may possibly prove to be the He who is destined 
by Fate to open the gates of a happy future for her 
to enter in.” In what that happiness was to con¬ 
sist she had no very clear idea; but that it was not 
identical with a mere commonplace desire to “get 
married,” was legible in the girl’s face — in a rest¬ 
less manner, a keen, wandering eye, and a pecu¬ 
liarly sensuous mouth which plainly betrayed a 
passion for the secret draining of half-emptied 
champagne glasses. 

Fanny was gone, and there was a loud rap at 
the door. This was Hans, a good-natured lad, 
radiantly robust, who first placed a silver wine- 
cooler full of rough ice on the table near the bed, 
and then, with a sort of military subordination, 
placed himself at the gentleman’s orders. Otto 
put his knapsack under the pillow of the grand 
four-post bed ; he was glad to allow hands to help 
him to undress, for his wound was extremely 
painful and the slightest movement made his head 
throb and ache. In five minutes all was ready, 
and the application of ice was not merely cooling 
to the wound but soothing to his excited nerves. 


56 


THE WILL. 


As it grew dusk Herr Lehrbach came to see 
him, and enquire how he was getting on ; Camilla 
and his wife had particularly charged him to do 
so. Finding that Otto was feeling well consider¬ 
ing the circumstances, he sat down to chat. He 
asked the young man whither the journey so un¬ 
expectedly interrupted had tended, what were his 
plans and hopes, what his past history and his 
present prospects. Hans had withdrawn when the 
lawyer came in, and Otto, who was strongly at¬ 
tracted by his new friend’s frank kindliness, did 
not hesitate to tell him the exact truth — the 
modesty of his position, the greatness of his am¬ 
bition, and his idea that it was only in a great city 
that he was likely to find employment which might, 
on one hand, give him the regular means of exis¬ 
tence and, on the other, offer him an opening for 
distinguishing himself as he wished. 

Lehrbach made no reserve of his doubts and 
warnings; he would meet with disappointments 
and annoyances without end, he said. Then he 
went on: 

“ Be that as it may, I feel sure that you will 
succeed by hook or by crook. You have plenty 
of backbone in spite of your hot blood, that I 
can see — and are fully resolved to make the best 
of it, brevi manu , wherever fate may cast you. 


THE WILL. 


57 


That is just what I like, and I have taken a great 
fancy to you. I like a young fellow that does not 
hang his head helplessly when he is told to make 
his own way through the world. If he comes 
across a friend who can show him the road for a 
little way, so much the better; I will see what I 
can do for you. At any rate be sure you come to 
see me — in town I mean—Theresienstrasse No. 
19. I shall be there by the end of the month. 
And for the present keep quiet, that you may get 
well the sooner.” He shook hands with the patient, 
Otto feeling almost ashamed. What had he done 
to deserve this overflow of friendliness afid good¬ 
will. 

When Lehrbach had left him he lay weary and 
exhausted, listening to the heavy tick of the clock 
in the corridor till, soon after, he fell asleep. 


CHAPTER V. 

Otto passed the next few days in dismal 
monotony. He was in too much pain to listen for 
any length of time to Hans’ well-meant efforts at 
reading aloud—essays and stories from the weekly 

magazine “Die Glocke.” He was interested to 

* 

learn that this magazine, and a new encyclopedia 


53 


THE WILL. 


of political economy, were the principal issues of 
the firm of A. H. Duren — the late father of his 
present host — and that they brought in a yearly 
net profit of half a million, but though he will¬ 
ingly listened to these and other details more or 
less lucidly stated, they failed to increase his 
pleasure in his good-natured attendant’s monoto¬ 
nous performance, and he declined his repeated 
offer. For six dreary days he had no amusement 
but Lehrbach’s short visits and those of the doc¬ 
tor from Gernsheim, his meals, and the various 
sounds that fell on his ear, coming up from the 
park below his window. These sounds supplied 
his fancy with a series of pictures. The barking 
of the greyhound, the grinding of carriage- 
wheels, or the trampling of saddle-horses; or, 
more often, voices of every degree — the aristo¬ 
cratic, drawl and the dignified mumble — youthful 
and clear, or old and weak — silvery, sonorous, or 
hard. 

Once — early in the morning—Otto distinctly 
recognized Lucinda’s, Camilla’s, and a third which 
struck him as familiar, though he failed to identify 
when and where he had heard it. A few hours 
later, when the same voice called from the outside 
steps : “ Philip bring the horse round !” Otto asked 
Fanny — who, in the absence of Hans, was co- 


THE WILL. 


59 


quetting over the operation of giving him a basin 
of soup with a spoon — whether the gentleman 
who had given this order was by any chance Dr. 
Wolf, the editor of the magazine. 

“ Oh no !” said the girl with a languishing 
glance. “ Dr. Wolf is away you know, travelling 
in Switzerland, where the avalanches are and the 
everlasting Alpine glow. The gentleman down 
there is Herr von Tyllichau-Sassnitz, a distant re¬ 
lation of my master. How they are connected 
Herr von Dtiren himself does not know; but his 
mother was a Von Tyllichau. The Sassnitz has 
been added since; it means something—but after 
all, you will not care. ...” 

“ Does Herr von Tyllichau live here ?” 

“ Did not you know ? He has been on a visit 
here for half the summer. But there, the house 
is always full of visitors. For the last week we 
have had the professor who is writing the encyclo¬ 
pedia. Such a learned man! and he can swill 
drink too, I can tell you ! Herr von Tyllichau- 
Sassnitz is not one of those who look shy at a 
bottle or two, but old Salomon will not be put 
off with the water.” 

“ And what does Herr von Tyllichau do ?” 
asked Otto, after a pause. “ Is he a student, or 
what is he ?” 




6o 


THE WILL. 


“ Well, as you may say nothing at all. He was 
an officer for a short time, but they say he quar¬ 
relled with his colonel; at any rate one fine day 
he threw it up — and now he hangs about the 
house here. He enjoys life — eats and drinks and 
smokes cigars of the first brand. Well, and he is 
a fine young gentleman, that no one can deny, 
and makes no bones over a little present now and 
then .... while the professor — well, he is very 
different.” 

Here the entertainment ended; the basin was 
empty and Fanny carried it away, answering 
Holtmann at last, who was calling her for the 
third time. 

At the end of a week the doctor pronounced 
the wound so far healed that Otto might leave his 
room. He stuck his straw hat over his forehead, 
which was still bandaged, and Lehrbach, who had 
been waiting for him, thrust his hand through the 
young man’s arm and led him out saying with kind 
familiarity: 

“ So far so good ! Meanwhile I have been 
taking the liberty of thinking over your plans and 
prospects. You told me that you had learnt 
something; but you want the official stamp, the 
hall-mark of a certificate, of having passed an 
examination and all that sort of thing. The world 


THE WILL. 


61 


in which we have the honor to live is very tena¬ 
cious on such points. You may be in perfect 
health and have been vaccinated three times over, 
but unless you can show the vaccination marks no 
respectable family will take you as an inmate. So 
it is — and so it ought to be, though in a few 
special cases it may seem unjust and hard. Now, 
in the first place you cannot go to the Univer¬ 
sity, because the yearly examination at which you 
seem to have covered yourself with glory by the 
help of your marvellous village schoolmaster, is of 
no use pro maturitate. So nothing remains but 
to find an employment which requires some edu¬ 
cation though it makes no exceptional demands on 
height, breadth or depth of culture. To make a 
long story short, I have spoken to my father-in- 
law ; I have made it clear to him: first, that you 
are an intelligent and useful sort of fellow; secondly, 
that your purse is consumptive; and thirdly, that 
we are under particular obligations to the firm of 
Wellner of Halldorf. — Now, hold your tongue— 
and mind you do not slip on the marble steps. I 
have proved to him as plainly as a sum by rule of 
three that your curly head felt the blow which, 
figuratively speaking, was intended to hit my wife 
Lucinda. — Hold your tongue. — If the ruffian 
was so ready with his fling it might beyond a 


62 


THE WILL. 


doubt have happened. — However — all that is 
"beside the question and I need hardly say that I 
did not pelt the facts at the great man quite so 
hard as I am now doing at you. Well, he prom¬ 
ised to find a place for you somewhere in his great 
establishment — for where five hundred people are 
employed there are always vacancies, or extra 
hands needed — but this is a mere detail. So to¬ 
day or to-morrow Herr von Diiren will send for 
you and talk the matter over with you. At the 
same time, it is only fair to warn you — you must 
not count on anything very splendid. Herr von 
Diiren is cautious, stern and punctilious ; he likes 
people to work their way up from the ranks.—But 
silence, Herr Wellner. Here comes the doctor’s 
wife, Frau Fohrenstedt; I will introduce you to 
her. She happened to be sitting in the veranda 
with Frau von Diiren when you came into the 
park as a wounded Samaritan and she saw the 
blood-stained knight-errant come up the steps ; 
she was quite agitated when she heard what had 
happened. But indeed, ever since that deed of 
prowess you have been the hero of the season — 
especially among the ladies.—Allow me, my dear 
Madam, to introduce the Perseus who rescued 
Andromeda from the Dragon ; Herr Otto Well¬ 
ner . . . Frau Fohrenstedt—Anna Fohrenstedt; 


THE WILL. 63 

I like to be as exact as possible in matters of 
identity; you must allow it in an old lawyer.” 

The lady who was young, blushed to the roots 
of her hair; a blush which was all the more 
singular as she betrayed birth and breeding in 
every detail of her appearance. Her dress was 
simple but well chosen; she moved with quiet 
grace and the few words she addressed to Otto 
were polite and appropriate. Otto looked with 
extreme interest at her face, which, though not 
pretty, was delicate, and which bore unmistakable 
traces of mental suffering; as the swift blush 
faded her complexion suggested the texture of a 
white camellia flower. Silent submission to a 
sad fate, hopeless resignation—this was the expres¬ 
sion that settled on her pure, closed lips. Some 
years since — the doctor’s wife was now seven and 
twenty — those lips no doubt had smiled and 
jested; nothing was left now but a pensive au¬ 
tumnal smile, the faded remains of her former 
light-heartedness. It was a well-known fact that 
the doctor’s wife was the most unhappy woman 
in the capital. She had married the doctor — at 
that time no more than the assistant of a medical 
man since dead — in a fit of rapturous admiration, 
her head fairly turned by his languishing and im¬ 
ploring gaze; Fohrenstedt himself fondly adored 


6 4 


THE WILL. 


his gentle Anna, with her “corn-colored hair,” as 
he called it in his inspired verse; and the honey¬ 
moon passed in “golden sunshine.” But, ere 
long, the vain and fickle man, finding the whole 
feminine world at his feet, ceased to take pleasure 
in celebrating the merits of undying love; the 
cup, from which he at first had drunk an eager 
draught, he found to be shallow ; and now began 
a course of neglect, unkindness and infidelity 
which must undoubtedly have led to a separation 
but that Anna, in spite of her wounded pride, was 
as madly in love as ever with her heartless hus¬ 
band, who treated her with scorn and aversion 
and whom she nevertheless could not bear to 
part from. In the course of years the miserable 
woman had become accustomed to her fate; her 
love had at length died of cold in the freezing 
atmosphere of a life which was varied in its tenor 
only by the superficial incidents of daily life or 
the discovery of some new break of faith on her 
husband’s part. She had no children ; her frost¬ 
bitten heart was thrown back on itself, and her 
face assumed that look of silent endurance which 
had gained her among her intimate friends the 
nickname of “ the passion-flower.” 

After exchanging a few words with the lawyer, 
Frau Fohrenstedt went into the house with a 


THE WILL. 65 

slightly shuffling but not ungraceful gait, and 
Lehrbach, as he walked on with Wellner, said: 

“ I will take you as far as that bench and then 
leave you to your fate. If Von Diiren sends for 
you be calm and confident though, of course, not 
arrogant. That is what he likes in a man ; ex¬ 
treme politeness he loathes.— So now God be 
with you !” 

Otto sat down and his friend turned into the 
house again. What would Karl Theodor Heinzius 
say if he could know how soon the small craft of 
his former pupil had found a haven ? He must 
write to the schoolmaster this very day — he 
would wonder when he got the letter why Otto 
should date from Oberhorchheim ; and as he read 
on ... ! 

Otto’s thoughts were still far away, in his dear 
old friend’s little attic, when another party came 
out on the steps. 

“ If you will go on, Herr Tyllichau,” said 
Camilla’s voice, “ I will go back and see what has 
become of Lucinda and Anna.” And she disap¬ 
peared behind the colonnade before Wellner had 
seen more than her sky-blue dress, while the 
gentleman whom she had addressed came down 
the steps and straight along the path. 

Otto thought he must be dreaming. In Herr 


Vol. /. 


5 







66 


THE WILL. 


von Tyllichau who was coming towards him he 
recognized that Benno Hellwald whom he had 
seen gossiping with Martha in the garden of the 
Golden Anchor. He almost forgot the details of 
their unpleasant interview in sheer astonishment. 
Then this smart young gentleman had one name 
at Gernsheim and another at Oberhorchheim ! 
But why ? What for ? It could hardly be with 
a view to avoiding the homage which the popu¬ 
lace might be anxious to offer to the scion of the 
illustrious house of Tyllichau-Sassnitz — but Otto 
had no leisure to continue his cogitations, for 
Herr von Tyllichau had not come more than half 
way to the bench when he stopped short and 
went through a brief pantomime that excited 
Otto’s greatest curiosity. 

“ Heaven and earth!” muttered Herr von 
Tyllichau-Sassnitz — alias Benno Hellwald — as 
his eye fell on the convalescent, sunning himself 
on the garden seat. He was usually reserved in 
his language, but this adjuration escaped him as 
being the only adequate expression of his feelings. 
What a state of things ! This then was the brave 
deliverer of whom the ladies spoke with such 
fervent gratitude! This man! and here — here 
where Herr von Tyllichau was on the very point 
of making the last decisive assault on the heart of 


THE WILL. 


67 


the fair Camilla. If this man were to tell . . . 
But the incident must be wiped out once for all 
by a rational arrangement. He need only say a 
few pleasant words to this Herr Wellner — a sort 
of explanation — but at once, on the spot, every 
minute might be fatal! 

Eric, Baron von Tyllichau, approached Otto 
with as much ease as he could command, bowed 
politely and said with a smile: 

“ I hope, Sir, that a very few words of ape logy 
from me will suffice to dispel any ill-feeling — you 
know to what I allude — as completely as mine 
has vanished. To be frank with you, T was a 
little annoyed and startled; but when I learnt 
that it was you, to whom all this family feel under 
such great obligations, I was delighted to count 
such a trifle as bygone and forgotten. I could 
not doubt your identity for a moment from my 
•cousin’s vivid description — and I am only 
sorry ...” 

Otto had slowly risen during this speech. He 
had resolved to treat the young man with the 
most distant politeness, but the engaging candor 
of this address conquered him at once. Tyllichau’s 
ease and amiability were so irresistible that Otto 
could only stammer out an apology and accept 
the hand which the baron offered. 


5 



68 


THE WILL. 


“ I have only one thing to request,” said Eric, 
as though it were merely incidental. “ When the 
ladies join us will you oblige me by not mention¬ 
ing how and where we last met. I will tell you 
my reasons quite candidly — I am a great admirer 
of my cousin Camilla, and so far as I can judge 
she likes me : this is of course strictly between 
ourselves. Now you know that a young lady is 
apt to judge differently of certain things from 
us . . .” 

“ From us !” Otto would not confess it to him¬ 
self, but it flattered him to be included by Tylli- 
chau in the class of men of the world who judge 
“ differently.” He bowed. “Bless me !” Tylli- 
chau went on : “ Who can change his nature ? 
For my part, I confess whenever I see a pretty face 
I am apt to rave about it. That little Martha at 
the Golden Anchor is really so charming and so 
innocent that I cannot see why I should not pass 
the few hours I must spend there in her society, 
rather than chatting with the tedious philistines in 
the parlor. Our ladies, of course — the waiting- 
maid is to them scarcely a human being. They 
regard it as derogatory only to look at such per¬ 
sons ; as if there were any disgrace in working for 
a living.” 

Otto very naturally felt this remark rather ill- 


THE WILL. 69 

timed. He made no reply, but his silence was 
sufficient assent for the young gentleman. 

“ By the way,” he went on in a tone of perfect 
indifference, “ you need not be surprised at my 
having given my name as Benno Hellwald—my 
real name is Tyllichau — Eric, Baron von Tylli- 
chau. I could easily convince you — my real 
rank — you must admit . . 

“ Certainly,” said Otto with a suspicion of 
irony in his tone, and the young Baron frowned 
slightly. But he immediately added with haughty 
politeness: 

“Then I have your word.” 

Otto’s heart beat high; Camilla and Lucinda 
were coming down the avenue charmingly dressed, 
their skirts somewhat shortened and fresh flowers 
in their hair. Behind them walked the doctor’s 
wife and a tall clean-shaven man with a singular 
mixed expression of intelligence and narrowness. 
Something very like genius sparkled in his small 
keen eyes, but the rest of his face contradicted it. 
His sandy-grey hair was parted on the crown and 
fell over his low forehead in a fringe; the small 
size of his head was a conspicuous peculiarity. 
This singular-looking man was dressed in black ; 
a fine diamond pin glittered in his neck-tie and his 
cuff-buttons were unusually large. Camilla was 




7 o 


THE WILL. 


carrying on her left arm half a dozen hoops bound 
round with colored ribbands, and in her hand she 
had a bundle of light canes — the appurtenances 
of the favorite old game of Les Graces , now again 
becoming fashionable. 

“ I will not intrude,” said Otto to Tyllichau, 
and he looked about him as if he wished to escape, 
but it was too late. 

“ Here is our patient!” exclaimed Camilla. 
“ I am glad to see you, Herr Wellner: so you are 
released at last.” She went up to Otto and offered 
him her hand as if they were old friends. Lucinda 
also greeted him kindly but with less effusion. 

“ I have already expressed my sincere esteem 
to Herr Wellner,” said Eric von Tyllichau, re¬ 
lieving Camilla of the hoops and sticks; then 
turning to the other couple he added : “ Allow 
me to introduce to you the gentleman who for so 
many days has been the object of our gratitude 
and sympathy. Herr Otto Wellner — Frau 
Fohrenstedt, Herr Kurt Ewald.” Anna Fohren- 
steclt blushed as she had done before. 

“ I have already had the honor — not ten 
minutes since ...” stammered Otto with a bow 
to the lady ; then he added a few polite words to 
her slim companion, who slightly drooped his eye¬ 
lids and put on a smile intended to be polite. 



THE WILL. 


71 


Von Tyllichau twirled the hoops on the sticks. 

“ I see that we must not at present count on 
the professor,” he said. 

“ Papa seems to have detained him,” replied 
Camilla. “ So far as I am concerned it seems to 
me that five can play croquet very well; but 
Lucinda says that if you take two balls on one side 
it makes it too unequal.” 

“ Oh ! do you think so ?” said Eric turning to 
Lucinda. “ Then will you not take two balls ?” 

“ That is equally unfair unless you could make 
up your mind to be my partner;—and,” she 
added sarcastically, “ after all that has happened 
there seems but little prospect of that.” 

“ How so ?” asked Tyllichau ; but Lucinda 
only shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Les Graces ,” began Kurt Ewald in his thin, 
high voice, “ does not seem to find favor in Herr 
von Tyllichau’s eyes.” 

“ I find it dull, I confess,” said the baron. 
“ At croquet one can talk, but at Les Graces we 
all stand apart like sentinels on duty.” Camilla 
looked down and colored. 

Tyllichau, who said to himself that the longest 
and pleasantest part of this free and easy country 
life was over, had made very accurate calculations 
from his own point of view. He could not afford 


/ 


J2 THE WILL. 

to waste any opportunity for fanning the spark 
that he had lighted in Camilla’s heart; every word 
was of value and importance. Tyllichau felt that 
he had nothing to count upon but the persistency 
of her liking for him — considering the silent but 
decided opposition that he.would have to encoun¬ 
ter from Camilla’s mother and sister, both of whom 
took care on every opportunity, without any 
breach of the laws of politeness and hospitality, 
to make him feel that they regarded him as an 
extremely distant connection, and had no wish to 
diminish the formalities of their relations. Herr 
von Diiren, who rather encouraged the young 
baron, was too much absorbed with his extensive 
business— even at Oberhorchheim — to be of any 
value as a counterpoise. A weakness of the noble 
family from which his mother was descended 
prejudiced him in favor of the young baron; the 
Diirens were of the middle class; the present 
representative was the first to be ennobled with 
the prefix von only a few years since, and from 
that date he had been wont to lay more emphasis 
on the long pedigree on his mother’s side. His 
sympathy with Eric’s aims was however not very 
pronounced ; it only floated in the air, while the 
antipathetic attitude of his wife and married 
daughter stood on a firm basis. His best ally 


THE WILL. 


73 


therefore was Camilla herself who certainly liked 
him, and to inflame this liking to a glow of passion 
was Tyllichau’s fixed and constant endeavor. 
Every drop of oil that he could throw on the 
embers might prove decisive. The baron’s prefer¬ 
ence for croquet was founded on this evident fact; 
any other game interfered with his progress; it 
was only at croquet — that precious invention 
contrived by Love himself for the furtherance of 
tender interviews — that he saw the bright pros¬ 
pect of exchanging a few whispered words now 
and then with the lady of his choice. He knew 
so well how to send the adversary’s ball — and 
particularly Lucinda’s — to the uttermost ends of 
the ground, or how to hit his own into the imme¬ 
diate neighborhood of Camilla’s, that he was quite 
master of the situation. 

He was prompt in action; giving his little 
beard a graceful twist he said in his clearest and 
sweetest tones: 

“ The majority I see are all for croquet. Per¬ 
haps Herr Wellner would be so good as to make a 
sixth for the first game.” 

“ Oh ! yes, do, Herr Wellner,” begged the fair 
Camilla. 

“ I am extremely sorry,” said Otto, “but I am 
entirely ignorant of the game.” 




74 


THE WILL. 


“ How can that be ?” said Camilla. “ Why, 
everybody plays it.” 

“ Madam, I come from Halldorf, and at Hall- 
dorf there is not a soul of those you call ‘ every¬ 
body !’” 

“ It is all the same,” said Eric. “ It does not 
take two minutes to explain the rules, and the 
game needs no very special skill. You will be 
doing the ladies a pleasure — will you not join 
us?” 

“ But his wound ?” asked Frau Fohrenstedt. 

“ It is as good as healed !” cried Tyllichau, 
leading the way to the croquet-ground. “ Come 
along, ladies; you will see, we shall get on 
famously.” 

Five minutes later Otto Wellner found himself 
playing croquet with as skilful and as fashionable 
a party as ever held mallets in a gentleman’s 
pleasure-grounds. Herr von Tyllichau displayed 
such brilliant accuracy and such grace of action, 
Herr Kurt Ewald smiled with such blase archness 
from under his idiot-fringe, the ladies set their 
neatly-shod little feet with such fascinating airs on 
the red, blue, and green wooden balls, that Otto felt 
he had never seen anything so refined and delight¬ 
ful. Add to all this the cloudless September sky, 
the beautiful park, and, on the other side of the 


THE WILL. 


75 


smooth croquet-ground, the handsome villa — 
spacious, and princely — it was like a fairy-tale. 

Thus passed a quarter of an hour; the first 
game was nearly at an end and Eric von Tyllichau 
with Camilla and Frau Fohrenstedt had as good 
as won it, when it was interrupted by the advent 
of a short, thickset personage in a grey summer- 
suit. This was the professor: Dr. Heinrich Salo¬ 
mon, the editor of the New Encyclopedia; peering 
about him behind the glittering glasses of his 
spectacles, he came down the gravel walk, while 
from time to time he raised an enormous straw 
hat that covered his bushy head of hair. ' 

His approach was hailed with satisfaction by 
every one of the party. 

“ Ah! my dear professor,” cried the baron 
hurrying to meet him. “ Have you at length es¬ 
caped the chains of your responsibilities? We are 
all anxiously waiting for you.” 

“ That is very kind of you,” came in a deep 
rolling bass from under the short, thick moustache, 
while the smoothly-shaved chin below moved up 
and down like that of an old man mumbling some 
hard morsel. “But duty first, I had a most im¬ 
portant article to consider — an article on Social 
Democracy which Professor Hebenstreit had pre¬ 
pared for our Third Edition. In view of the fact 





76 


THE WILL. 


that the professor himself is no longer in the land 
of the living I have myself undertaken the revision 
of the essay, and, as I flatter myself, not incompe¬ 
tently ... I have, as you know, already reduced 
the subject ad absurduni in a somewhat lengthy 
pamphlet. I have insisted on the incompatibility 
of the premises with the deductions; I have 
pointed out the ways and methods of confuting it; 
I have. . 

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Ewald. “Your pam¬ 
phlet is admirable; it quite astonished me; nay, 
to be frank with you, it is the only thing which I 
can fully sympathize with in the whole of your 
political career.” 

“ Young man,” replied the professor, “ you are 
candid, and your staunchness commands respect. 
When will your ultra-conservatism discover the 
fact that Liberalism is the born foe of socialist 
follies ? That, in fact Liberalism alone has a phil¬ 
osophical perception of what is ridiculous in this 
tendency — philosophical, I say — and therefore 
has more power than any other party to exter¬ 
minate Socialism from the face of the earth? — 
Well, well — enough of that; I see you smile. 
Smile away, Herr Ewald ! we can be capital 
friends all the same. But enough of that; I 
only wanted to explain why Herr von Diiren had 




THE WILL. 


77 


detained me. Croquet, is it to be ? or, to be ex¬ 
act, has it been? I am at your service. But—by 
the arrow in his heel shall you know Achilles the 
son of Peleus. . .” 

He raised the straw hat and went towards 
Otto. > 

“ My name is Salomon. I imagine that I am 
right in inferring from your bandaged head your 
identity as Herr Otto Wellner ?” 

Otto bowed. 

“It is well,” the professor went on. “We 
heard from Herr Lehrbach that your doctor had 
sent you into the garden ; Herr von Duron there¬ 
fore begged me to inform you of his wish to see 
you in his study at your earliest convenience. 
And while I execute his commission I have the 
honor of expressing my satisfaction at having the 
pleasure of making your acquaintance.” 

It was extremely difficult to guess from the 
professor’s manner how much of it was conscious 
humor and how much unconscious absurdity. He 
emphasized every word with rolling unction, as 
though he were delivering the key to the mystery 
of the universe, and seemed to turn the syllables 
over on his tongue with a relish, like a gourmand 
who thoroughly enjoys a morsel before he swal¬ 
lows it. However, as the rest of the company 





78 


THE WILL. 


evidently regarded his demeanor as perfectly nor¬ 
mal, Otto refrained from uttering the words that 
Salomon’s apparently ironical speech brought to 
his lips. He merely handed over the croquet 
mallet to the professor and bowed politely as he 
left the ground. 

“God be with you, young man!” cried Salo¬ 
mon with oracular solemnity. “ I can fill your 
place here!” He flourished the mallet over his 
shoulder and Otto made his way to the house with 
an anxious heart. 

Herr Georg von Diiren received him with ex¬ 
treme reserve. 

“ Take a seat,” he said without rising from his 
arm-chair. “ My son-in-law, the lawyer, Dr. 
Lehrbach, has told me something of your circum¬ 
stances. You have at the present moment no 
employment or position ?” Otto assented. 

“ Have you any testimonials ?” 

“ A certificate of qualification for one year’s 
voluntary service.” 

“ Very good — any other references ?” 

“ I could procure them. Certainly — as I told 
Herr Lehrbach. . .” 

“ My son-in-law told me everything. He 
takes so much interest in you indeed that I could 
not avoid — and indeed I myself am indebted to 


THE WILL. 


79 


you for your prowess in the wood. So listen to 
me. A place as clerk will be vacant in the office 
of our weekly issue after the first of October; the 
pay is small, but you may rise by degrees. I offer 
it to you.” 

“ Sir, you are most kind. May I ask what will 
be required of me ?” 

“ Nothing at all difficult. To write addresses, 
fill in circulars, and send back manuscripts; now 
and then to compose a letter and to read re¬ 
vises.” 

“ Revises ?” 

“ That is what we call the second proofs of 
printed matter. You will soon understand that.” 

“ Sir, I am very much obliged and will try at 
any rate whether I am capable.” 

“ I must add a condition : I shall require you 
to make no attempt to prosecute the man who 
threw the stone at you. My daughters would 
necessarily be involved in the affair and summoned 
as witnesses; and, as you will feel, such a pro¬ 
ceeding is unpleasant, to say the least of it, for 
ladies of good position.” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ The doctor tells me that you only need a few 
day’s change now to be quite well. I will take the 
liberty of handing you a sum of two hundred 


8o 


THE WILL. 


marks* for the purpose and as an indemnity for 
the time you have lost. If you wish to leave 
Oberhorchheim a carriage is very much at your 
service.” 

Otto turned paler; a polite refusal of the 
money was on the tip of his tongue. It seemed 
to him that Von Diiren meant it as payment in 
full for the service he had done him, and at the 
same time the offer of the carriage implied a 
wish that the hospitality of the house should not 
be extended to the involuntary visitor any longer 
than was absolutely necessary. But the great 
man’s manner was so deliberate, calm, and digni¬ 
fied that Otto simply did not dare to give expres¬ 
sion to his touchy pride. He mechanically ac¬ 
cepted the envelope containing the bank-note, 
thanked the donor, and said in a firm voice: 

“ I shall be leaving this afternoon; I am really 
perfectly recovered. On the first of October 
then. . .” 

“ At nine in the morning, punctually,” added 
Von Diiren with a slight bow of dismissal. 

Two hours later, a hired chaise, which Hans 
had fetched, carried Otto Wellner along the road 
to Londorf; he had quitted the villa without tak¬ 
ing leave of any of the inhabitants. How could the 


* Fifty Dollars. 




THE WILL. 


8 l 


son of the bookbinder of Halldorf intrude on the 
daughters of his future master with the trivial an¬ 
nouncement of his departure ? The only person 
whose hand he would have cared to grasp — Dr. 
Lehrbach—was not to be found ; so Otto charged 
the young servant, on whom he bestowed one of 
his gold coins, to bid him respectfully farewell. He 
was carried through the pretty hilly landscape, his 
head leaning on his hand and paying no heed to 
the scenery, not knowing himself why he felt so 
sad and heavy at heart. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Four days had Otto been in the noisy capital. 
In the Sandgasse , number seventy on the fourth 
floor, he had found a very humble lodging. This 
little street is in the western quarter of the city 
where a dense and prolific population of laborers 
and artizans live crowded into the quaint little 
houses of the old suburb, or in the flats of the 
many-storied structures, run up by speculative 
builders, and which straggle in unfinished streets 
far out into the fields. 

Here — where the view from the window was 
across the roofs of neighboring houses to a clump 


Vol. /. 


6 


82 


THE WILL. 


of oaks on the southwest horizon, seen through 
the reek of steam and smoke from huge factories— 
sat Otto in the dusk, within the circle cast by the 
shade of his paraffin lamp, writing to Karl Theo¬ 
dor Heinzius. 

He was not a little homesick. 

“ My dear Friend ”—so he began. “ You can 
have no idea what it is to go out into the 
world without a soul that you know, to 
see on every side faces so utterly indifferent 
that it is difficult to remember one from an¬ 
other— and then to think of the happy inti¬ 
macies of the past! On my word, Heinzius, I 
feel exactly as if I were one of those fitted bricks 
which are piled one above another, hundreds and 
hundreds of them, to make a smoking flue. All 
one’s individuality is lost in this heartless chaos. 
A man is of no use but as a fraction of the whole 
mass — as a cipher in the sum total. To-day par¬ 
ticularly, for it has been dull and wet and I have 
come in early from my afternoon walk in the very 
heart of it all — I feel it deeply. Out here, in the 
suburbs, where the squalid struggle for bare life is 
perpetually going on, where the advertisements 
and notices that cover every wall are a perpetual 
reminder that in every branch of industry the sup¬ 
ply exceeds the demand, where the women are 


THE WILL. 


83 


pale and the men ruffianly, I constantly experi¬ 
ence a feeling of nullity that is quite crushing. 
Here, of course, as elsewhere, comfortable and 
contented folks are to be found; but I have no 
eyes for them now—I can see nothing but what 
is dingy, sad, and sunless. For instance, picture to 
yourself the lordly portal by which I daily pass in 
and out. To the left, half-underground, is a beer- 
shop for cab-drivers; to the right, a vegetable 
stall; above, up to the second floor, the front is 
entirely covered with dozens of sign-boards, and 
advertisements which make the house, which is 
not a particularly large one, look as if it were in 
itself a whole town: ‘Two bedrooms to let,’ 
* Mangling done, at home or on the premises,’ 
three or four notices of ‘ Handsome furnished 
apartmentsthere hang the brass basin that an¬ 
nounces a barber, a blouse-maker’s sign who calls 
himself a tailor, and a modest little plate stating 
that ‘ private lessons are given by a gentleman on 
the fourth floor — please ring twice.’ On the 
fourth floor ! This gentleman, then, is my imme¬ 
diate neighbor, but to this hour I have never set 
eyes on him. I cannot think what it is that 
makes me prefer a solitude in which I am so truly 
miserable. Probably it is the tremendous con¬ 
trast between this wretched hovel and the fairy- 


8 4 


THE WILL. 


like splendor of the villa at Oberhorchheim, with 
its grand columns, its shining marble, its bright- 
green grass-plots, its lovely ladies! — one especi¬ 
ally, the wife of my kind protector — I can tell 
you, Heinzius, if you could see that face you 
would behave even more queerly than you did at 
the ‘ Golden Anchor.’ You would sing ‘Lucinda, 
Lucinda,’ from morning till night, and Martha 
would fade into oblivion.” 

Otto had written this much when he heard 
two sharp raps at the door. “ Come in,” he said 
somewhat surprised, for his landlady always 
knocked very humbly, and it could not be the 
postman since the letter he was in the act of writ¬ 
ing was to give his address to the schoolmaster. It 
was in fact neither the postman nor Frau Lersner, 
but a tall slight man of eight and twenty or thirty; 
pale, as if constantly up all night, with dark 
prominent eyes and thick long hair which stood 
up from his forehead almost straight on end and 
fell back in a perfect mane. 

“ My name,” he said, “ is Roderich Lund. I 
wished to pay my respects to my new neighbor. 
We live next door to each other.” 

“ Pray take a seat,” said Wellner in some 
surprise. The young man sat down. 

“ I am happy to make your acquaintance,” he 


THE WILL. 


85 


went on. “ I have taken a great fancy to your 
personal appearance. Your coming was a benefit 
to me, for your predecessor was a dreadfully rest¬ 
less creature who was humming or knocking all 
day long and scared away all my best ideas.” 

“You are very kind. I am sorry that I have 
not even a cigar to offer you . . .” 

“ Precisely my case. I know too little of glit¬ 
tering mammon to indulge in such luxuries as 
tobacco.” Otto cast a sidelong glance at his 
visitor. “Yes, yes—just so !” laughed Roderich 
Lund. “ I am thankful when I can get a few 
lessons in this miserable part of the town and earn 
enough to pay my way.— A man may bless his 
fate now-a-days if he escapes starving in the 
gutter.” 

“You give lessons?” Otto asked, for the sake 
of saying something. 

“ That is about the mark. What I really am 
I dare not state in plain terms, for no one will 
believe me till I have proved it.” 

“I do not understand.” 

“To be sure, it sounds rather oracular. I 
am not strictly speaking a teacher; I give a few 
lessons to gain my daily bread. My vocation is 
poetry; I write plays — principally tragedies. 
Since I have breathed the atmosphere of the 


86 


THE WILL. 


century with intelligent comprehension the tragic 
seethes in my blood—sombre as lead. At these 
junctures every man must be prepared sooner or 
later to be the hero of a tragedy. It is an abject 
world, my dear Sir. It is possible, of course, to 
regard it as highly comical; to put it in the pillory 
and set up for being a Laughing Philosopher; but 
not unless one is oneself a little above it. I my¬ 
self am too completely part and parcel of its- 
misery. I write tragedies.” 

“And where are they acted?” Roderich 
laughed. 

“ Acted !” he said bitterly. “ To get a play 
acted — especially a tragedy — the poet of the 
present day must have interest, connections. 
Talent alone will not do it. Your bourgeois 
public does not want tragedies; it cannot under¬ 
stand them. All the heart-struggles which lead 
up to the catastrophe — but you know well enough 
what the public is now-a-days.” 

“ I am sorry to say that I know nothing of 
the character of the public or of the state of the 
theatre.” 

“You are a student?” asked the poet after a 
pause. 

“ I am on the point of taking a place as clerk 
in the office of Von Diiren.” 


THE WILL. 87 

“Von Diiren ? A. H. Diiren the great pub¬ 
lishing firm ?” 

“Just so.” 

“ A publisher ! — oh ! the publishers !— They 
are a race by themselves, a species of which I 
could tell you tales.— Bourgeois , thoroughly 
bourgeois ; that epitomizes all!” 

“ What do you mean by bourgeois ?” 

The poet’s eyes flashed with a “fine frenzy.” 
In a few words he gave a wildly-indignant ex¬ 
planation ; following it up by a fantastic declama¬ 
tion against the Government and Society, with 
pictures steeped in the extract of fermenting dis¬ 
content, and dreams in which passionate craving 
got the upper-hand of justice and logic. 

Otto Wellner listened in amazement. The 
man’s manner and language were as those of one 
possessed, and there was a kind of fascination 
in his slightly husky voice, in which vehemence 
and conviction made up for its lack of fulness. 
Otto, it is true, told himself distinctly: “ The 
man’s brain is in a state of unhealthy excitement,” 
— but it was just that which had such an intox¬ 
icating effect. 

The clock of a neighboring chapel struck 
eight. 

“ I had no idea it was so late,” said Lund ris- 


88 


THE WILL. 


ing. “ I have taken up too much of your time 
fora first visit; and have poured out—Heaven 
knows — more perhaps than you have cared to 
hear. I hope we may frequently meet. You have 
eyes like Raphael’s angels, your whole manner 
attracts me strongly ; and as you — to judge from 
your place of residence — are also one of the 
Pariahs who know not what the Almighty means 
to do with them, we are socii malorum in more 
senses than one. We poor devils must cling 
together. By the bye, why do not you come 
across and join us in the evening ? I mean in our 
virtuous landlady’s drawing-room. Joking apart 
it is a little more comfortable there than in here, 
in these cupboards which Frau Lersner lets as 
bedrooms. Prohle, our opposite neighbor, comes 
sometimes — a very reputable man; a little homely 
but none the worse for that. The girls—Frau- 
lein Emma and Fraulein Adele — will not scare 
you away.” 

“ I hardly know whether — with no invita¬ 
tion. . 

“ Oh ! I will be responsible. You have only 
to come with me.” 

“Very well,” said Otto. He put his letter into 
a drawer and turned down the lamp. Roderich 
led the way. The poet knocked twice; the friendly 



THE WILL. 


89 


landlady’s voice bid them come in, and they en¬ 
tered a room of some size. Round a table in the 
middle, where a lamp with a flowered shade shed 
a circle of light, sat two young girls and a big, 
broad-shouldered man of about Lund’s age. The 
girls were sewing; the man was twirling a pair of 
scissors, and looked as if he did not like the intru¬ 
sion. Frau Lersner herself, at a side-table, was 
busy preparing supper. She came forward to 
welcome Otto, shaking hands with him, and then 
she greeted Roderich. The two damsels and the 
broad-shouldered man had slowly risen from their 
seats. 

“ I am very glad,” said Frau Lersner to Well- 
ner, “that you have done us the honor—I was 
just saying to Herr Prohle— this gentleman here 
is Herr Prohle, he is a type-founder at Von Diiren’s 
— ‘Herr Prohle,’ I was just saying, ‘our new 
gentleman over there studies too much; he would 
do better if he did like Herr Lund — of evenings 
I mean. — That everlasting reading and writing 
comes to no good, I say; no good at all.’ ” 

The type-founder came up to Otto and said in 
hearty tones: 

“ I am sure you’re very welcome. I hear that 
we have the honor of being near neighbors at the 
shop too. I am only a workman, to be sure, and 


90 


THE WILL. 


you are one of the gentry; but that makes no 
difference.” 

And as he spoke he wrung Otto’s hand with 
the force of a vise. Otto made a civil answer, 
shook and rubbed his fingers a little, and took a 
seat between Roderich and Miss Adele on a chair 
that the mother placed for him. 

Emma, the daughter, had meanwhile taken up 
her work again. Otto’s eye lingered involuntarily 
on the light brown hair, simply parted, which lay 
softly on the white forehead. That forehead had 
an indescribable look of purity and calmness, and 
when in answering some question of Roderich’s 
she glanced up for an instant, she showed a pair 
of hazel eyes, shrewd and bright, and at the same 
time dreamy, like the depths of a mountain lake, 
— Otto felt at once as comfortable, as completely 
at ease as though he had here found a sister and 
a home. 

Adele, Frau Lersner’s niece, whom the type¬ 
founder addressed as Fraulein Jakoby, was not 
much like her cousin. Her sparkling eager eyes 
revealed a certain restlessness and instability, a 
hungry curiosity, and her full mobile lips seemed 
to be talking and laughing, even when they spoke 
no words. Her dark brown hair hung low over 
her brow, all tossed and untidy as if blown by the 



THE WILL. 


91 


wind. Though Emma was neither solemn nor 
pensive, by the side of Adele she looked like the 
incarnation of peaceful good-sense. 

The conversation fell at first on commonplace 
subjects. Prohle, by a drily-humorous picture of 
everyday incidents did his best to amuse his ex¬ 
citable neighbor and was rewarded by her gay, 
mocking laughter. 

“ But, Herr Prohle," she exclaimed at last in 
pathetic accents, “ this is the fourth time you have 
told me the same thing!" 

Worthy Herr Prohle colored, muttered some¬ 
thing of “ quite by accident,” “a mistake," “an 
oversight,” and plunged straightway into another 

1 

subject in which neither of the other young men 
took part. Presently Emma Lersner looked up 
from her stitching. 

“ Have you been hard at work again, Herr 
Lund ?" she asked with a smile. 

“The third act is finished,” answered the 
poet. 

“ Indeed ! and the grand closing scene?” 

“ Has turned out better than I hoped. I may 
be satisfied with my day’s work. Though what 
is the use ? I know to a certainty that it is 
sheer waste of time.” 

“ You must not lose heart," said Frau Lersner, 


92 


THE WILL. 


as she spread a flowered napkin on the table. 
“ No one ever dropped from the skies readymade, 
as you may say; everything must have a be¬ 
ginning.” 

“My dear Frau Lersner,” replied Lund bit¬ 
terly, “ I am now nearly thirty; by this time I 
might have done something to show. I wish for 
nothing better than to make a beginning. But 
Fate will not grant me even the very smallest 
opening. Not even a suburban theatre. . .” 

“ And that would do you no good either,” 
said Frau Lersner. “You ought to go at once 
before the very elite of the public.” 

Roderich shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I would rather have the suburban public with 
its honest ignorance than the elite, as they think 
themselves, with their half-knowledge.” 

“You hear, Fraulein Jakoby,” the type-founder 
threw in. 

“ And what does it concern me ?” 

“Well, you have such an extravagant respect 
and admiration for everything that is genteel!” 

“ What nonsense ! Extravagant respect! I 
have no respect for anything— not even for your 
solemn face. You look at me as if you would like 
to stir poison into my tea.” 

“ I ! oh, indeed you quite misunderstand me.” 



THE WILL. 


93 


Emma now rose to bring the plates and cups 
and Otto watched her noiseless activity with in¬ 
creasing pleasure. Her figure was remarkably 
supple and elastic, but at the same time round and 
full, and as she took the things from their shelf, 
bent, stooped, and reached, her grace and shape 
were displayed to the greatest advantage. Her 
neatly-fitting dress of black woollen stuff clung so 
closely and so simply to the shapely young limbs, 
and her every movement was so unpretentiously 
easy . . . ! Then how charmingly she laughed when, 
presently, Prohle and Adele again began one of 
those debates in which the honest artisan was 
certain to come off worst! Her laugh was not so 
loud or so unrestrained as that of her saucy and 
bright-eyed cousin, but it was even more hearty 
and mirthful! That laugh was like the ringing of 
bell-like flowers—the flowers of her sweet and 
happy nature . . .! 

“Lucinda would laugh like that,” thought 
Otto to himself. She, to be sure, the lady in 
white, the fairy of the park at Oberhorchheim, 
was grave and silent — what was there in that 
silence, that imperturbable calm, that had so be¬ 
witched him ? Fraulein Emma was pretty, but— 
but easy self-possession, and imposing dignity, 
were altogether lacking; and Otto was more than 


f 


94 THE WILL. 

ever enchained by a fantastical rapture over every¬ 
thing that suggested wealth, splendor, rank, and 
command. 

When Frau Lersner was pouring out tea 
Prohle got up, and taking a last impertinence from 
Adele without attempting a retort he said, while 
the color mounted to his forehead: 

“Well, let us talk sense now. You carry it 
too far, Fraulein Jakoby. But just to show you 
that I am not such a bad fellow — wait a bit. . .” 

He went out of the room but returned in a 
minute carrying a large iron pot. 

“ There,” he said. “ Fraulein Jakoby declared 
only yesterday that she never could succeed in 
roasting chestnuts . . . .” 

Adele again burst into a loud, saucy laugh, 
and the rest laughed no less heartily; for in fact 
the awkward blushing Hun with the cooking 
brazier held in both hands was an irresistibly comic 
figure. 

“Well;—what is the matter?” stammered 
Prohle. 

“Nothing, nothing. Only stand there for a 
minute, in the doorway. Hold the pot higher — 
higher still. There ; now if you could only be 
photographed !” 

“ Bah ! I should think so ! Here — there are 


THE WILL. 


95 


two pounds of them — I roasted them myself, for 
all the party. Now, do leave off, Fraulein Jakoby! 
Upon my word you prove the truth of the saying 
that ingratitude is the world’s reward.” 

“ Nay, do not be cross ! you are the best of 
men, that I always declare. Fancy roasting chest¬ 
nuts for me ! It is really quite touching.” 

“ You are quite a spendthrift!” said Frau 
Lersner. 

“ Aye ?” said Prohle perfectly radiant. “ Well, 
if type-founding did not pay well enough for 
that. . .” 

“ Happily for you it pays better than dramatic 
poetry!” said Roderich; and Emma sent him a 
kindly glance. 

“ Have you tried at the Stadt theatre ?” she 
said in an undertone. ‘‘With your ‘ Robespierre] 
I mean.” 

“ No — but it would be perfectly useless, as I 
work out the hero’s character as a fanatic and not 
as a bloodthirsty monster. . 

“ But if you tried there with your Gracchus ? 
The director is said to be a very amiable and in¬ 
telligent man.” 

“ So far as that goes, yes. But even he wor¬ 
ships the great goddess Success. ‘ Who is Roder¬ 
ich Lund ? I do not know the man. —Take the 


9 6 


THE WILL. 


rubbish away. I have neither time nor inclination 
for experiments !’ Take my word for it — why, I 
can hear the amiable and intelligent man 

y y 

say. . . 

“ But will you not read it to us—read us what 
you have finished since- last time ?” asked Frau 
Lersner. “ You know we take the greatest inter¬ 
est— and that piece about the Ancient Romans 
particularly.—The Ancient Romans sounds so 
well you know, so grand and far away — would 
you ?” 

“ An author craves a public I confess,” said 
Lund knitting his brows, “ but still, I do not know 
whether I dare trouble Herr Wellner. . .” 

Otto hastened to say that he should be an at¬ 
tentive and appreciative listener. 

“ I am sorry to say ” — began saucy Miss 
Adele, after a short silence, “ Herr Roderich must 
excuse my saying so — but I have so much to do 
this week I must positively be off to work at 
once. . .” She peeled her last chestnut and wiped 
her dimpled fingers on her pocket-handkerchief. 

“ What — so soon ?” said Frau Lersner. 

“Yes indeed, I am sorry to say. In the 
autumn there is always more to do; sometimes I 
can hardly stand it. But the chief requires it.” 

“ I should have thought that he might leave 


THE WILL. 


97 


you your evenings in peace at any rate,” cried 
Prohle indignantly. “ You did not come in till 
half-past seven and must you be off again at half¬ 
past eight! Why there is no end to it.” 

“ Oh come, it is not so bad as that,” said 
Adele. “This evening, for once, we shall go on 
till eleven—as I said, Herr Lund, I am extremely 
sorry. . .” 

“ You don’t say so ! I tell you what, Fraulein 
Adele, I believe you would rather stand behind 
the counter till eleven than listen for twenty 
minutes to my verses.” 

“ What should make you say so ? Why should 
I object to listen to your Crackus or whatever you 
call it? But last time I was so dreadfully tired — 
it was a quarter past ten before. . .” 

“ Was it ?” laughed Roderich. 

“ It was indeed! Besides Herr Lund you 
should not mind me. It is so hard not to be 
sleepy after standing at the counter all day. But 
now I must be off or Herr Toussaint will be as 
cross as he was the other day, when I was five 
minutes late. Emma, give me the door-key. . .” 

“ We will sit up and let you in,” said her 
aunt. 

“ So I should think! that I may stand shivering 
outside for half an hour clapping my hands till 

7 


Vol. I. 


98 


THE WILL. 


they are sore. You never hear. Besides, there is 
no counting on Herr Toussaint at this busy time 
of year ; it may be near twelve before I get away. 
Now — make haste Emma — and help me on 
with my cloak — it is such a heavy clumsy thing, 
I ought to have earned a better one by this time. 
Good-bye, Aunt — good-night, Herr Prohle — 
good-night all.” 

She pulled a colored wax-taper out of her 
pocket, lighted it, and ran down stairs. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Prohle watched her as she disappeared, as an 
enthusiastic traveller might watch the setting of 
the sun. A feeling of chill anxiety weighed on 
his heart and was plainly legible in the pained and 
disappointed expression of his hard-featured face, 
which looked as if it had been carved out of wood. 

It was Thursday, and this was the second time 
this week that the light of his evening hours had 
been thus eclipsed. Fraulein Jakoby !—the name 
meant to him all the balm of spring and flowers 
of May; light and life and heavenly bliss. He 
knew, of course, he had always known, that by the 


THE WILL. 


99 


side of this dancing saucy Adele he was a panting 
and toiling blockhead; he was perfectly con¬ 
vinced that Fraulein Jakoby had only to hold up 
her little finger to secure a brilliant match, and 
this left him small hope indeed. But of what avail 
are wise reflections to counterbalance such a pas¬ 
sion. 

For many years of his life Fritz Prohle had 
not known what it was to care for anything but 
his daily work and a Sunday holiday in a dancing- 
booth or a beer-shop. But the socialist epidemic 
had suddenly filled the air and, industrious, honest, 
and unprejudiced as he was, he had not escaped 
the infection. Misled by the influence of this 
wild ferment he had gradually developed a chronic 
class-hatred which was very unlike his true 
nature. Everything adverse or unpleasant that 
had since befallen him he laid at the door of the 
citizen classes — the Bourgeoisie. The men who 
put themselves forward in the great party meet¬ 
ings as the champions of the people stated in 
plain words that it was the greed of the money¬ 
getting classes that kept the laboring millions — 
individually and collectively—from rolling in 
riches. The worthy type-founder henceforth 
strove to give these views practical reality. When, 
Monday morning, he felt sick and idle, he 

7 * 


on a 


100 


THE WILL. 


cursed the sins of the employers; when he was 
late at work and got a rating, he laid it to the 
wickedness of the nineteenth century; if he lost 
at odd and even he saw Europe rushing on its 
ruin. This candid subjectivity was characteristic 
of the man ; so long as things went well with 
him Prohle with all his socialistic maggots was the 
most harmless creature alive, but it was easy to 
see that any real disaster would turn him to a 
fanatic or a madman. 

And the whole soul of this singular man —at 
the very moment when he was most closely en¬ 
snared by his virulent class-hatred — had been 
suddenly flooded by the torrent of love. Fritz 
Prohle was in love, and there was an infinite depth 
of poetry and tenderness in the passion of this 
stalwart artisan. Those evenings in Lersner’s 
sitting-room ! what a glamour of enchantment 
was there when Adele sat by her adorer’s side ! 
How happy he was tinder all her mockery and 
teasing !— and now she had vanished !— she was 
so uncertain, so unaccountable; she always did 
exactly what he least expected her to do! 

It was a very sad thing for the hapless Herr 
Prohle. 

“ Fraulein Jakoby ought not to be left to go 
about alone ...” he said at length. 


THE WILL. 


IOI 


“ Dear me, Herr Prohle . . Frau Lersner 
began. 

“ I know what you are going to say,” he went 
on. “ People who have to work for a living can¬ 
not send a companion at their daughters’ heels ; 
the girls must learn to take care of themselves. 
Ouite true; but there is a difference between let- 
ting such a child as that leave the shop at seven 
or half past, when the streets are full of people, 
and allowing her to go back to work at near nine ! 
And even later — it may be near twelve before 
she comes in she said. Good Heavens ! I might 
have offered to go with her myself — I still have 
one or two little jobs to do . . .” 

“ Never worry yourself about her,” said Frau 
Lersner, “she is quite used to it.” 

“You take it much too easy,” Prohle persisted. 
“You have only to go late in the evening down 
the Louisejistrasse or the Brandiveg and you will 
see the damned young blackguards in their kid 
gloves, with cigars in their mouths and a cane 
between the tips of their fingers.— Ah ! you may 
not notice it, but we have an eye on them.— And 
a girl like that gets spoken to — there, I cannot 
talk about it — it chokes me ...” 

“ You exaggerate, Herr Prohle.” 


102 


THE WILL. 


“ On the contrary, I cannot say half enough. 
Tell us, Fraulein Emma ...” 

The young girl colored slightly. 

“It may be so,” she said looking up. “But 
if a girl walks straight on and quickly ... I be¬ 
lieve it is mostly the fault of the girls themselves.” 

Prohle seemed to take Emma’s remark as a 
reproof, and this, in his present frame of feeling, 
after Adele’s unexpected departure, he could not 
brook ; he replied with some annoyance : 

“ You will never persuade me that you never 
in your life had such an adventure ?” Emma 
glanced up in surprise. 

“ Well, as you have begun the subject,” she 
said calmly, “ I will ask you on your conscience: 
are the young blackguards in kid gloves — as 
you express it — the only heroes of such disagree¬ 
able adventures ? Do not be so unjust!” 

“ Unjust! I . . .” 

“ Yes, you. On every possible opportunity 
you always speak as if truth and honor and every 
other good quality were only to be found among 
working-men — as if the higher classes . . .” 

“ I do not admit that there are any higher 
classes. All men are equal — and as to truth and 
honor. . .” 

“Bless me, children!” interrupted Frau Lers- 


THE WILL. 


103 


ner, “ do not quarrel about such uninteresting 
things. Herr Lund will read us the rest of his 
tragedy ; and we need not lose our tempers over 
the working-class and the upper classes. Such 
things have nothing to do with what you are go¬ 
ing to read us — have they, Herr Lund ?” 

“ Why not ?” said Roderich, who was a good 
deal annoyed by Emma’s speech and manner. 

Fritz Prohle looked at the clock. Since his 
hostess had mentioned the tragedy he was divided 
between his wish to be polite to Roderich and the 
longings of his uneasy heart. Roderich, who 
shared his socialist views, was excessively touchy 
on all that related to his poetry. On the other 
hand, the type-founder positively could not rest; 
since he had seen Adele disappear through the 
doorway a voice had cried to him incessantly : 
“ Run after her — now, at once” — and he heard 
it still, louder than ever. However, he controlled 
himself, and reflected that by this time she had 
gained such a start that he could not possibly 
overtake her. 

Roderich fetched his manuscript and began to 
read aloud, with strong feeling but with no ex¬ 
travagant emphasis, the act he had finished after 
long and unwearied labor. 

Otto observed that the poet addressed himself 


104 


THE WILL. 


almost exclusively to Emma, as though she were 
the only critical listener; Prohle in fact paid 
absolutely no attention, and Frau Lersner showed 
more motherly sympathy than intelligent com¬ 
prehension, while Emma, on the contrary, lis¬ 
tened with devout absorption; her eyes sparkled 
and her slender hands, which, till now, had 
stitched industriously, lay idle in her lap. This 
perfectly genuine admiration excited Otto to listen 
and attend. He heard the first two or there 
scenes with a certain amount of prejudice, for the 
confidence with which Roderich put himself for¬ 
ward as a poet by the grace of God was provoca¬ 
tive of antipathy; but Otto was honestly aston¬ 
ished to find himself—without any knowledge of 
the earlier acts of the drama — siezed as if by 
invisible talons and carried on from scene to scene 
by the fire and glow of true dramatic -power. 
This was beyond a doubt a creation which might 
claim to be listened to by the whole nation. 
When the poet ceased Otto held out his hand to 
him without a word ; Emma drew a deep breath. 
Only Frau Lersner found a few well-meant words 
of praise. 

Prohle rose. 

“ Well, I must go now,” he said. “ When you 
have finished the fourth act .... There, I cannot 


THE WILL. 


105 


help wondering how it will all turn out; though, 
to be'sure, as it is a tragedy, Gracchus of course 
must come to a bad end — there will be a Roman 
constable or something of the kind — a trial for 
murder or manslaughter. — Good-night all.” 

He left the room, went to his own, found his 
hat and then felt his way slowly down the dark 
stairs. 

Outside was the clear fresh September night; 
he drew in the air with a deep breath; then he 
took off his hat and passed his horny fingers 
through his hair. A smile parted his lips. 

“ Who knows what may come of it?” he said 
to himself. “ It may be a hint given me by Fate. 
After all, what should I have gained by it if she 
had sat there for half an hour yawning behind her 
little hand while Roderich was reading? For she 
does hate to listen to reading. — And by ten 
o’clock it would all have been over. Now, as it is, 
I can just contrive. . .” 

He nodded and started off at an easy pace 
towards the city rejoicing as he said to himself: 
“You will meet her—you will see her home 
Further than this he did not go. To say some¬ 
thing to her of the passion with which his heart 
was overflowing, which left him no rest by day or 
by night — such an idea would have seemed to 


io 6 


THE WILL. 


him far more rash than to try to seize one of the 
wheels of the tramway car which dashed by close 
in front of him, and to stop it with his bare hand. 

Twenty minutes walk brought him to the corn 
market; the illuminated dial of St. George’s 
church showed that it was a quarter past ten, and 
he turned off down the Louisenstrasse, one of the 
main arteries of the German metropolis, with the 
comfortable sense of being in very good time 
without having too long to wait. The lights were 
still blazing in some of the shops on each side of 
the street, and here and there he stopped to look 
in at a tobacconist’s or a pastry-cook’s, with his 
hands in his pockets, whistling the while the time 
of “ Mandolinata,” or some other popular air. 

Number thirty-three, Bergmann’s—the “Mar- 
chand de comestibles ,” hams, potted meats, and 
such delicacies. Here he stood contemplating 
with total indifference the stuffed boars’-heads 
and larded fowls which had not unfrequently 
tempted him to longing. What did he care to¬ 
night for these dainties on which the wealthy 
“ batten ?” The dreams of his heart were linger- 
ing eight doors further down, for it was at number 
forty-one that Adele Jakoby was saleswoman in 
the fashionable and famous milliners’ shop of 
Toussaint and Gerold. Prohle walked on — he 


THE WILL. 


107 

would take a few turns up and down and cautiously 
peep in. Adele would not see him — and even if 
she did. He tried to persuade himself that he did 
not care; but the idea that she might discover 
him disturbed him greatly. Well, he would make 
it appear that mere chance had brought him that 
way. If she came out he would come straight 
down the street .... 

Slowly and stealthily, like a bear creeping up 
to a beehive, he kept close to the houses — this, 
he reckoned must be number forty-one. In fact, 
on the carved cornice above the door he saw, in 
huge gold letters, the words “ Toussaint and Ger- 
old.” But the shop was shut. The narrow laths 
of the rolling shutters were fastened down over 
the front; not a light, not a sound; the house 
might have been dead. 

Prohle passed his hand over his eyes. . . Per¬ 
haps the master had dismissed his employes earlier 
than Adele had expected ? But no ; there was 
but one way to the western suburbs; he must 
have met Fraulein Jakoby. Suddenly a terrible 
suspicion flashed on his mind and all the blood 
in his body rushed back to his heart. He stag¬ 
gered and, with a loud groan, fell for support 
against the nearest lamp-post — fell so heavily the 
glass panes rattled. A policeman who was pass- 


io8 


THE WILL. 


ing laid his hand on his shoulder and said shortly : 
“ Look here—you had better get home—” and 
went on his way muttering to himself: “ They 
growl and grumble over the hard times but they 
can always find plenty to spend on drink !” 

Fritz heard the soliloquy, and under other cir¬ 
cumstances he would at any risk have rushed on 
the policeman and have called him sharply to ac¬ 
count. But somehow it did not seem worth while 
now; he was paralyzed. He turned and took the 
way home shuffling like a broken man. 

Presently however he shook himself out of his 
stunned dismay. 

“What a fool I am!” he groaned aloud, 
clenching his fist and pressing it to his forehead. 
“Where should she be ... she is safe at home long 
ago. I was dreaming, mooning — I must have 
passed her. Of course she has been at home ever 
so long.” And the strong, stalwart fellow, who a 
few minutes before had slouched along like an 
asthmatic old woman, started forward at a brisk 
pace. He ran as he crossed the corn market and 
in ten minutes was back at the lodging-house in 
the Sandgasse. He rushed up the stairs in breath¬ 
less haste, never heeding that he fell twice in the 
dark. He reached the top just as Otto and Rode- 
rich Lund were leaving the landlady’s sitting- 


THE WILL. 


109 


room to go back to their own. “ Good Heavens!” 
cried Frau Lersner, who was standing at her door 
lamp in hand. “ You come tearing up as if a 
gang of robbers were at your heels. And how 
scared you look ! What on earth is the matter ?” 

“Nothing — nothing,” gasped Fritz. “I . . . 
only wanted to have the benefit of the light...” 

He went close up to her and his dim eyes 
glanced hastily round the sitting-room. There 
stood Emma, who had just lighted her candle, but 
he sought in vain for a glimpse of Adele. 

“ Fraulein Jakoby is gone to bed then ?” he 
said anxiously. 

“No — she said she should not be in before 
eleven.” 

“ Good-night,” he said hurriedly, and without 
another word he went into his room. There he 
locked himself in and threw himself on his bed. 
His brain was in a ferment, his eyes burnt in his 
head. 

“ What on earth ails him ?” said Otto to the 
poet as they parted. 

“ Bah, he is in love with the girl, so of course 
he is furious with Messrs. Toussaint and Gerold. 
Between ourselves, I believe it is waste of time. 
If I know the young woman her eyes have long 
been fixed elsewhere.” 


no 


THE WILL. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The famous publishing firm of A. H. Diiren 
had their extensive premises in the border-land 
between the fashionable part of the city and the 
noisy industrial quarter, their frontage occupying 
almost half of one side of a street. The mere out¬ 
ward aspect of the weather-blackened buildings, 
simply but massively constructed, gave the be¬ 
holder an impression of substantial business within; 
of unostentatious but far-reaching wealth which 
required no gaudy or boastful announcement to 
command recognition and respect. The long 
rows of windows with their stone sills and frames, 
devoid of shutters or blinds, suggested the ranks 
of a marching regiment; and even these gave a 
very inadequate idea of what was to be seen in 
the three vast court-yards surrounded with build¬ 
ings that stretched away behind to the southwards. 
Diiren’s publishing warehouses were a little town 
in themselves ; they not only comprehended every 
subsidiary branch of the business—printing, type¬ 
founding, and book-binding, with separate shops 
for wood-engraving and zincography, but the firm 


THE WILL. 


I I I 


also employed their own mechanics — locksmiths, 
wheelwrights,' carpenters, machinists, and engin¬ 
eers. There were also a set of rooms devoted to 
editing and correcting the weekly magazine “Die 
Glocke,” and one for the great Encyclopedia which 
was daily gaining importance and circulation. 

On the first of October, punctually at nine, 
Otto was standing in the entrance-hall and gave 
his name to the porter. 

“ Second Court, Staircase C., First floor, Room 
seventy,” said the man in a mechanical drone. 

“ Shall I find Herr von Diiren there ?” asked 
Otto as the man turned away. 

“ No — you will find Doctor Wolf.” 

“ Ought not I to present myself first to the 
chief?” 

“ It is not customary. The chief does not 
come much before ten.” 

“ Thanks,” said Otto shortly, for the man’s 
manner was annoying. 

“ Second Court, Staircase C. . .” 

“ First floor, Room seventy,” the porter 
added. 

Otto went through the hall into the first court, 
where smoking chimneys towered above the sur¬ 
rounding buildings. The morning sun looked lost 
and dreamy on the grey asphalte pavement, and a 


I 12 


THE WILL. 


droning hum — the complicated panting, rattling, 
and stamping of a hundred machines in the 
various workshops — seemed to be part of the at¬ 
mosphere. Work had been going on here for a 
couple of hours already. Otto involuntarily stood 
still. Often as he had lingered during the last 
week or two, to gaze at the scene of his future life 
from the streets in front and behind, he was none 
the less astonished at the first impression of this 
great quadrangle, where the windows stood in 
serried rows and where the inarticulate noise of 
toiling men and machines was only a sublimer 
sort of silence. The same inexplicable feeling that 
had come over him when he followed Lucinda and 
Camilla up the marble steps at Oberhorchheim 
fell upon him here, though with a different tinge. 
There, it was the magical charm of luxurious ease 
that had held him spellbound; here, it was the 
sight of what supplied that luxury. What enor¬ 
mous capital must be sunk in these fortress-like 
buildings, in these acres of machinery and plant, 
simply to fill the coffers of one lucky and enviable 
man ! How many ceaselessly busy hands, roaring 
and clattering wheels, and weary brains toiled from 
morning till night for his behoof! And while 
golden streams here met and gathered in a rolling 
flood, a man like Roderich — a man of wonderful 


THE WILL. 


I 13 

talent — sat in a wretched attic in the Sandgasse, 
hungry and cold if he gave himself up to his 
poetical inspirations and neglected the baser tasks 
that brought him bread. 

“ It is a strange world !” sighed Otto sadly. 

All that Roderich had poured out to him dur¬ 
ing the few days of their acquaintance, on every 
pretext and in every key, suddenly came back to 
him with acute vividness, like the frozen notes in 
Munchhausen’s post-horn. Until now Otto had 
listened with sceptical ears to the poet’s vehement 
diatribes; he had said to himself that Lund’s hy¬ 
perbolic imagination saw only one side of the facts, 
and saw that under the light of his excited sensi¬ 
bilities; but here — where the dominion of wealth 
appealed so directly to his senses — Otto began to 
believe in Roderich’s absolute infallibility. He lost 
sight of the moderation he had once so implicitly 
trusted—of the maxims of his good friend Hein- 
zius, who had taught him by precept and example 
that happiness does not depend on external circum¬ 
stances ; that a poor village schoolmaster in the 
most forsaken nook in the world may be richer 
than the great and favored of the earth. 

While Otto Wellner stood there almost forget¬ 
ful of the object for which he had come, a hand 
was laid on his shoulder from behind. He turned 


Vol. I 


8 


THE WILL. 


I 14 

round and saw the good-humored, quizzical face 
of Doctor Heinrich Salomon. 

“ Morning,” said the beery bass of the political 
economist. “ Glad to see you again — shall we 
go in together ? It is past nine and you will find 
enough to do I suspect. The clerk who was leav¬ 
ing naturally let everything go — Aprcs nous le 
deluge. A bad principle—equally bad in politics. 
He was a strange young man that Herr What’s- 
his-name. Well, peace to his ashes ! You, I see, 
are studying topography.—Very imposing, heh ? 
But come on now, so as not to begin by being 
unpunctual, for that was what brought your pre¬ 
decessor to grief.” 

Otto followed him. 

“So you are to be under Doctor Wolf?” Salo¬ 
mon went on, as they crossed the court. “ Well, 
I wish with all my heart that it had been possible 
to give you a job on the Encyclopedia—however, 
lighter literature has its claims and especially ‘ die 
Glocke.’—Well, enough of that. Do you know 
Doctor Wolf?” 

“ To this moment I have never had the 
honor. . replied Wellner. “I wanted to pay my 
respects to him last Sunday. . .” 

“ Well you will find him a highly-cultivated 
though rather narrow-minded man, but you will 


THE WILL. 


11 5 

esteem him and like him. — As I say, a man of 
academic learning - but too essentially literary and 
consequently, on some points, ultra-conservative. 
Well, enough of that. We part here. Do you 
see—there to the left from the angle to the middle 
entrance — all the Encyclopedia — all me, I might 
almost say if it did not sound like a preposterous 
assumption of autocratic powers. — If you are in¬ 
terested in the thing perhaps you will look in some 
day. But you must see the whole establishment 
and its vast organization; that is an indispensable 
initiation. There you are, Herr Wellner. Stair¬ 
case C. Ah ! there is the lupus in fabula at the 
window.” 

He waved his hand to the “ultra-conservative” 
editor with an expression of comical friendliness, 
shouted “ au revoir ” to Otto, and disappeared 
through a doorway, while Otto mounted the stairs 
to the editor’s office. 

The editor received him with the affable dig¬ 
nity of a disciple of the classic Greeks. Gentle¬ 
ness, moderation, and harmony were the ruling 
characteristics of his appearance and manner ; he 
was evidently finely strung and looked as if he 
dwelt in a dream of the sun of Homer’s isle and 
the soft murmurs of the olive-clothed banks of 
Ilyssus. He was carefully shaved; his chin, as 


THE WILL. 


I 16 

smooth and round as a girl’s, seemed to bear a 
promise of perpetual youth and his brown silky 
moustache was widely unlike the bristly growth 
which Doctor Salomon was in the habit of soaking 
so long and so deeply in the foaming beer-glass. 
His speech was equally different from the jerky 
volubility of the Encyclopedist. Leopold Wolf 
spoke simply and distinctly, but always in carefully 
chosen words and phrases, and with that inimitable 
accuracy and elegance which is the secret of classi¬ 
cal erudition. The words of welcome with which 
he hailed the new clerk were inea nrepoEvra 
— winged words—that soothed the ear with their 
measured and melifluous courtesy, as melodious 
as the rhythm of the Odyssey. 

Otto found that, as Salomon had warned him, a 
mountain of papers awaited him, and he set to 
work with a will to remove this mountain. 

The hour for receiving visitors was eleven, and, 
as the clock struck, Klaus, the office-factotum 
and messenger, announced a lady. Doctor Wolf 
nodded, and a tall, fair woman came into the room. 

“ I beg a thousand pardons,” she began with 
a singularly hurried manner. 

“ Not at all — to whom have I the honor ?” 

“ My name is Tharow— Marianne Tharow— 
a widow. I see, Mr. Editor. . 


THE WILL. 


II 7 

“ Pray be seated,” interrupted Doctor Wolf 
courteously. 

The widow sat down on the leather sofa; then 
she began again in a doubtful voice: 

“ The object of my visit may be told in a very 
few words. You published, about five weeks since, 
in ‘ die Glocke ' a tale in which the descriptions— 
how shall I explain myself — in some degree — 
to some extent. . .” 

She raised her handkerchief to her lips and 
coughed a little, then she went on in almost a 
whine: “It is this, Mr. Editor—in the fourth 
chapter of this story a certain Countess Etelka 
and her receptions are described — what goes on 
at these receptions I need not enlarge upon now. 
But this Etelka — I have the best authority for 
saying it — is meant for me, Sir; abominably cari¬ 
catured of course — but still like enough for every 
one to recognize it.” 

“ Indeed ! and can you bring any proofs of 
this assertion.” 

“ Certainly—the most positive proof. My first 
Christian name for instance — not to be sure that 
which I commonly use — is Adelheid. Now 1 
have learnt on the most trustworthy authority 
that Etelka is the Hungarian form of Adelheid. 
And this Etelka behaves in such an outrageous 


1 I 8 THE WILL. 

way that I cannot imagine how any one can treat 
a defenceless woman — ” here the handkerchief 
went to her eyes—“and a lady whose character 
is above suspicion.... O it is shameful, quite 
shameful !” 

During this speech Doctor Wolf had fidgeted 
more and more nervously with his paper-knife. 

“ My dear Madam,” he said interrupting the 
agitated plaintiff, “ I cannot at all understand the 
cause of your excitement. The heroes and 
heroines of novels must necessarily have names. 
You yourself declare that the character and inci¬ 
dents do not point at you — or is there, here and 
there, some accidental resemblance. . .” 

“ Your question is really insulting !” 

“Well then. . 

“Yes, but. . 

“ At any rate,” said the editor calmly, “ your 
whole hypothesis rests on a complete misappre¬ 
hension of the circumstances. You might in this 
way persuade yourself that Goethe had written 
Faust in order to make game of the original of his 
Wagner. This is indeed making a mountain of a 
molehill, or, as we should say building a cathedral 
to block the view from the attic. 

Marianne Tharow sat pensive. She gave vent 
to a few more complaints, but finally, being driven 


THE WILL. 


119 

into a corner by the editor’s polite logic, she could 
only speak of her “ sensitiveness” which made her 
“ see everything in the blackest light,” and beg¬ 
ging him to preserve the strictest secrecy, she took 
her leave. 

Doctor Wolf saw her to the door with an ironi¬ 
cal smile. 

“The lady has an evil conscience you see, my 
dear Herr Wellner,” he said, as he came in. “ I 
assure you, the editor of a magazine with a large 
circulation is the father-confessor of his country.” 

In the course of the morning Otto had further 
opportunities of seeing behind the scenes, and 
what he saw did not contribute to diminish his 
dissatisfaction with the world in general or with 
middle-class society. 

Klaus next brought in a broad-shouldered man 
of about fifty evidently in reduced circumstances. 
He looked like a farmer in debt. Holding his 
greasy felt-hat with both hands behind his back, 
he made a clumsy bow, and then announced in a 
bold unhesitating manner: 

“I am Edward Hackenthal, the poet.” 

“ Hackenthal,” repeated Wolf very coldly. 
“ To my shame I must confess ...” 

“ Edward Hackenthal of Niederwollstadt in 
Rheinhessen,” the author explained, as he drew up 


120 


THE WILL. 


his round head with its thin sprinkling of hairs 
and settled it, as it were, on his neck. 

“ I am very sorry — your name is quite 
unknown to me.” 

“ Oh ! Hackenthal, the writer of ‘Elpis.’ It 
can only be through the most extraordinary acci¬ 
dent that you fail to have heard of me ! But the 
most impossible things do happen. I myself — 
would you believe it of a German author ?— I 
myself, for instance, never till three or four years 
ago . . ” 

“ Herr Hackenthal, my time is limited ; might 
I beg you to explain to me as briefly as possible 
what brings you here ?” 

“ As briefly as possible. Your reason is the 
same as mine. I have here a treatise — about 
fourteen sheets — on horticulture, seeds, etc. — ” 
and he drew a thick manuscript out of his pocket. 
— “ Might I ask you to favor this important work 
with some attention ?” Doctor Wolf took the 
bulky roll : on the first page in large letters was 
written : “ Flora. Walks among her children, 
by Leo Antinous.” 

“ But, my dear Sir, what do you expect ?” said 
the editor suddenly. “ This manuscript has 
already come under our notice and been rejected.” 

“ Quite true,” replied Hackenthal, “ you re- 


THE WILL. 


121 


turned it to me on the 30th of March last, but 
without having read it.— But I am not easily of¬ 
fended, respected Sir, and so I offer it you once 
more for the very moderate sum of two thousand 
marks.” # 

“ But you must surely know that our maga¬ 
zine only contains short essays, of a few columns . . . 
Besides, I see . . . your style . . . And it is full of 
faulty spelling.” 

“ Those could be corrected afterwards.” 

“ Take no further trouble about it, Herr Hack- 
enthal. Your treatise is of no use to us.— 
Here. —” Hackenthal took back the manuscript 
with an angry scowl. 

“ Then you will have nothing to say to it ?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Very good. Kestner will give me its weight 
in gold — it is a very interesting article. I have 
long been on the very best terms with Kestner 
and a contributor to his monthly.” 

“ So much the better.” 

“ Meanwhile ...” 

“ Well, what is it ?” 

“ You know, Mr. Editor, how irregular the 
payments are now-a-days, from even the best 


* A mark is about 25 cents. 


122 


THE WILL. 


managed magazines — I should be glad — do not 
misunderstand me . . .” 

Doctor Wolf silently took a silver coin out of 
his purse. 

“ If this can be of any service to you ?” 

“ But I beg you to believe ...” stammered 
Hackenthal. What Doctor Wolf was to believe 
remained unrevealed. The hapless man quitted 
the office with the precious manuscript in one 
hand and the silver piece in the other. 

A middle-aged lady was next admitted, a 
queer figure and a walking comment on the wis¬ 
dom of a single life — starch and with very short 
skirts ; her extremely plain face with its affected 
expression was chilled quite blue by the. sharp 
October breeze. To Otto’s great surprise Doctor 
Wolf treated this suspicious-looking personage 
with marked respect, for Klaus, before opening the 
door for the author of “ Flora” had laid the lady’s 
card on the desk, and the card bore the name of 
“Eleonora, Baroness von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe.” 

“ I have brought you the article I wrote to you 
about,” began the baroness in a fluty piping voice. 
“ I could not deny myself the pleasure of handing 
the manuscript to you in person, for I owe you 
many thanks for your amiable notice of the 
Christmas entertainment the year before last.” 


THE WILL. 


125 


Doctor Wolf made some polite speech and 
took the manuscript. 

“The article is from the pen of one of our 
younger men of talent,” the lady went on. “ I 
may mention this to you, as the editor, but pray 
let it go no further. It is by Ewald, Kurt Ewald, 
the gifted novellist and tragic poet. Professor 
Salomon, to whom I applied twice, was ungallant 
enough to plead press of work and other ex¬ 
cuses.” 

“You must not bear him any malice for that, 
Baroness. In Salomon’s eyes there are but two 
branches of human thought: political economy 
and philosophy.” 

“ Well, I fancy that Doctor Salomon’s refusal 
will not affect its interests with your magazine. 
The essay is elegantly written and Ewald has been 
very successful in keeping the true locality out of 
sight and in setting all that appeals to common 
humanity in the foreground. Though here and 
there, he alludes to my humble assistance . . .” 
Doctor Wolf bowed insinuatingly as if to say: “ I 
know your exquisite delicacy.” 

“ And about when is it likely to appear ?” the 
baroness went on. 

“At any rate before Christmas.” 

“ Well, I trust implicitly to your well-known 


124 


THE WILL. 


courtesy. By the way— with regard to correct¬ 
ing the proofs ...” 

“ I pledge myself to the most perfect accuracy 
— I myself, Baroness.” Eleonora von Sunthelm- 
Hiddensoe thanked him and retired with conde¬ 
scending grace. 

“ There,” said the editor, laying the manuscript 
on Otto’s table. “ You can look at the thing some 
time or other. It will want pruning here and 
there I am afraid. 

Otto put aside his work and looked at the roll 
of cream-laid post, stitched together with red silk 
and looking more like a packet of returned love- 
letters than a literary manuscript. He read: 

“A festival at the Home for Female Idiots. 
A picture of our times by K. E. —Motto : Verily, 
verily I say unto you, whosoever receiveth one of 
the least of these in my name receiveth me.” 

Then the gentleman with the square-cut fringe 
was a novelist and tragic poet — and at the same 
time a reporter of the events of the town as re¬ 
garding philanthropic matters. The man in the 
park at Oberhorchheim, whom he had never 
thought of since, began to be interesting. 

The newly-hatched editor’s clerk was disturbed 
in his reflections by the strong Austrian accent of 
a fair-haired youth with a rather drooping under- 


THE WILL. 


125 


lip, who now came in with a note-book in one 
hand and a pencil in the other, and addressed 
himself with a polite bow to the editor-in-chief. 

“ Permit me, Herr Doctor, to introduce my¬ 
self. My name is Joseph Ritter Kochansky. I 
am in correspondence with the ‘ West-German 
Post,’ a reporter to the ‘New German Courier,’ 
the ‘ Vienna Evening Mail,’ the ‘ North-German 
Illustrated,’ and several other well-known papers 
at home and abroad. I called to ask you whether 
by any chance you require anything done for your 
Magazine—studies in history or something of 
that kind — on the Spanish Inquisition for in¬ 
stance. — Yes, let us say on the Spanish Inquisi¬ 
tion ; most appropriate to the times! And it is 
quite a specialty of mine. . . How many columns 
now shall we say ? What. — Done already ? 
What a pity. Then I might write you something 
on the development of Nihilism in Russia. . . Most 
opportune . . . What, done too . . . ? Well, wait a 
minute...” and he glanced through his note¬ 
book. 

“This ought to do : A paper on the old-Cath- 
olic movement in Germany; as I am not a mem¬ 
ber of any religious sect or party I can be abso¬ 
lutely impartial.—Five columns shall we say.— 
What?” 


126 


THE WILL. 


Doctor Wolf to whom his visitor’s versatile 
readiness was not unknown — for the young man 
had genuine talent and his name was to be seen 
in papers of every class — gave him briefly to un¬ 
derstand that “ Die Glocke ” held strictly aloof 
from religious polemics. 

“Well, well,” said Kochansky, “I have not 
bit on the right thing yet. But you are right, 
such discussions are out of place. Very good ; I 
will reserve that for the ‘ Revue de Geneve ’— 
I write for the ‘ Revue de Geneve,’ a highly re¬ 
spectable paper that pays with the greatest 
promptitude. But cannot you take anything ? 
A chapter now on the Pompadour ? Too risky ? 
Perhaps you could make a selection from this list: 
Chinese weddings.— The fundamental facts of 
Darwinism.—The influence of Schopenhauer on 
contemporary literature.— The social position of 
the Provencal Troubadours.— New Year’s cus¬ 
toms in the West of Scotland.—On the moral im¬ 
provement of the press.—The natural medica¬ 
ments of the Peruvians.” 

“ A brilliant selection of samples !” 

“Oh, yes,” replied the young man. “These 
are all more or less suited to a high style of treat¬ 
ment. Here—you see, on page eight — here are 
subjects for the general public as we say — appeal- 


THE WILL. 


127 


ing more to the feelings: The last day of a solitary 
soul. What ?— or Mother’s love ? Think of 
that: Mother’s love ! That would work up well. 
Six columns of Mother’s love, shall I say ; it is a 
most attractive subject. A young girl, Eulalia I 
might call her — or if you prefer some other 
name . . . ?” 

“ But, Herr Kochansky, you make me quite 
giddy with your flow of ideas ! These sentiments 
to order ... You are a most extraordinary man. 
Write what you like and send it to us, and if we 
can use it we will.” 

“ Good, very good. Mother’s love, then . . .” 
He wetted his pencil at his lips and made a 
memorandum on one of the pages of his note¬ 
book Doctor Wolf, * Glocke.’ Mother’s love, 
six columns, a family article, much sentiment, 
domestic coloring.’ 

“ There, that is settled. You will be satisfied 
with my work. One question more if you will 
permit me. Can you tell me where the ‘ Haus- 
blatter’ magazine has moved its offices to? Oppo¬ 
site, to the left ? That is most convenient; thank 
you very much. I have had much pleasure.— 
Sir, I have the honor ...” The pink and white 
face with the hanging under-lip expanded into a 
polite smile, and Joseph Ritter Kochansky, the 


128 


THE WILL. 


contributor to so many important periodicals, 
quitted the office. 

Otto shook his head and plunged once more 
into the Charity Festival. The mere appearance 
of the baroness had prejudiced him against her ; 
but here, in black and white, was such fulsome 
laudation of the “ noble Samaritan and benefac¬ 
tress”— brought here, too, by the subject of it all 
— such a silly trifling with compassion, benevo¬ 
lence, and self-sacrifice, that the effrontery of her 
proceeding fairly sickened him. He must be a 
strange man, this Kurt Ewald, to place his pen so 
grossly at the service of a vain and pretentious 
old woman — for a charity that could allow itself 
to be thus trumpeted and glorified could not be 
genuine. 

Otto put down the manuscript very ill-pleased. 
He had the kind of religious respect for everything 
“in print” which characterizes the inexperienced 
and credulous provincial, and here, within less 
than an hour, the ugliest and seamiest side of liter¬ 
ature had come before him — the literary vaga¬ 
bond in all his miserable squalor, the mechanical 
penny-a-liner who turns out ideas and feelings in 
a style by the yard and to pattern, then the 
author of the “ puff indirect” and the pharisaical 
worldling craving notoriety. 


THE WILL. 


129 


When twelve struck the last of the oddities 
who daily besiege the office of any important 
periodical had been shown out by Klaus. Doctor 
Wolf gave a sigh of relief as he spoke. 

“Well,” he said, “have you looked at that 
thing ?” 

Otto replied that he had, and expressed his 
opinion of it in decided though moderate terms. 

“Yes, yes,” said the editor. “She is one of 
those benefactresses to the human race who can 
never for five minutes forget the all-important I. 
But after all, what does it matter ? The poor 
devil who earns a gold piece by this sort of thing 
cares uncommonly little about the motive of the 
giver.” 

He turned over the pages. 

“ On my word ! but it is highly colored ! posi¬ 
tively gorgeous ! crimson and purple ! ‘ It was a 

touching, a soul-stirring sight: The founder and 
first lady-president of this truly beneficent institu¬ 
tion, grand with the diamond drops of those tears 
of joy that sprang to every eye . . .’ My worthy 
friend Ewald ! However, these flowers of extrava¬ 
gant diction can easily be cut out . . .” 

At this instant there was a loud rap at the 
door. It was Doctor Heinrich Salomon who 
came in with a loud: 


Vol. /. 


9 


130 


THE WILL. 


“’Morning.” He had a proof-sheet in his 
hand. 

“Just look here, my dear Sir,” he began, throw¬ 
ing his hat on a chair. “Your reader is a really 
amazing individual. Just see what an extraordi¬ 
nary oversight in this third slip — here; after 
1 which was to be proved ’ there are at least fifteen 
lines wanting, in which I had dealt critically with 
the well-known parallel drawn by Heine between 
Kant and Robespierre . . .” 

“ I must apologize and ask your forgiveness,” 
said the editor. “ In the press of business I 
neglected to explain . . . Irresistible reasons, cir¬ 
cumstances beyond control compelled me to cut 
out that passage.” 

“What! to cut out the main point? You 
leave the tail without a head ? But just allow 
me . . .” 

“Your critique was unintelligible to the gen¬ 
eral public; and besides . . .” 

Doctor Salomon crossed his arms. 

“ My respected colleague,” he said solemnly: 
“You know how highly I esteem you. You are 
a charming poet and an elegant novelist, but in 
matters of philosophy I must decline to believe in 
your competency. I therefore request you most 
positively, either to restore the suppressed pas- 


THE WILL. 


131 

sage, or to let me withdraw the whole essay. I 
really cannot allow the highest problems of human 
existence to be dependent on the dictates of mere 
literary taste, on the vagaries of a man whose 
whole reason is probably based on a cacophony 
of rhythm or some other defect of form and style.” 

“I assure you,” began Wolf, “that my objec¬ 
tions were not to the manner but to the matter. ..” 

“ Then they were retrograde and ultra-conser¬ 
vative in their tendency! Robespierre ! Well, 
the name is a word of fear, no doubt, in German 
homes. Ah ! I see through you, my dear Wolf. 
National-liberal as you call yourself you are in 
truth an intellectual protectionist. Well, enough 
of that! You know the alternative.” 

“ A second Cato ! What I have to put up 
with from these gentlemen ! it is out of all con¬ 
science. Well, my friend, I will reconsider the 
matter. I dare not rush on the peril of offending 
you, for if you should rise to be the first President 
of United Europe you might take your revenge !” 

“ I would make you leader of the reactionary 
opposition,” said the editor of the Encyclopedia. 
Then, turning to Otto, he added: “ I warn you, 
young man; do not let the sweet poison of this 
polished and form-loving poet sink too deeply into 
your soul! Look up and out on the great problems 


I 3 2 


THE WILL. 


of the century! Work yourself at the mighty 
loom! Between ourselves it is all a huge farce. 
The editors sit snugly, correcting and cutting — 
but the burning questions of politics— domestic 
political economy, ‘ What concern is that of ours ?’ 
they say in their pharisaical poet’s pride ! Here 
— come to this window-—look down on that 
mighty turmoil — the material of the modern 
polity — and, to speak figuratively, take off your 
hat to it.” 

He had taken Otto’s hand and led him to the 
window. Several hundred workmen and women 
of every class — the men in blouses, smock-frocks 
or coats, the women in neat cotton gowns or 
shabby, second-hand finery, bought in some sub¬ 
urban rag-shop, with here and there one more 
respectably clad — the foremen of the different 
shops, the readers, the packers, and clerks — 
were all crossing the asphalte pavement in different 
directions. Among them slouched Prohle, the 
stalwart type-founder, his hat sulkily pulled down 
over his right ear; he was in no hurry; he eat his 
frugal midday meal in a little tavern, not five 
minutes distant from the works, and he had lately 
been haunted by thoughts too sad to allow him to 
enjoy the hour’s rest. 

And what a hubbub and storm of voices, what 


THE WILL. 


133 


a clatter of question and answer, of greetings and 
laughter! Women’s voices were predominant — 
some fresh and candid, others spoilt by that inde¬ 
finable shade of tone which betrays degradation 
and vulgarity. Some of the girls looked up at the 
window where Salomon and Wellner were stand¬ 
ing. 

“ Those glances are meant for the editor!” 
observed the Encyclopedist. “ I calculate that on 
an average at least fifty of the women employed 
on the premises are desperately in love with 
Wolf.” 

At this moment another pretty young woman 
cast a languishing eye at the window as she hur¬ 
ried across the quadrangle ; she was not a “ hand;” 
she was evidently only taking this as a short cut. 
Otto recognized her ; it was Fanny, the Von Dii- 
ren’s housemaid. She laughed and paused before 
she disappeared through the archway. 

“Well, what do you think of the scene?” 
asked Salomon. “ It is not a theme for a sonnet 
or an ode, but good plain prose might find an 
epic here — more striking perhaps than our 
worthy friend Lupus’ ‘ Bride of Catania.’ But 
indeed young man, if you are addicted to poetry 
— I do not know whether you have that particular 
weakness, but in case you have — wean yourself 


134 


THE WILL. 


from versemaking. Dactyls and Anapests ! — 
Good God ! whose mad brain first hit on the gro¬ 
tesque notion ? . . . It is a perfect farce ! Well, 
enough of that! At any rate I can vouch with 
much satisfaction for your interest in the fragment 
of real life that we have just seen. Yes, what we 
have looked at from this window is, so to speak, 
the labor question set in the narrow frame-work 
of the Von Diiren’s quadrangle. Nay, nay, my 
dear Wolf, you need not smile — you, the author 
of ‘the Bride of Catania.’ It is the fact. And 
what I was going to say, Herr Wellner, was that 
on the first opportunity I will show you the inside 
of this vast organism. We must study society if 
we want to form a philosophical idea of it. Give 
your mind to social science, young man, to politi¬ 
cal economy, to domestic politics — these are 
philosophy in practice. Go to public meetings ! 
Listen to the antiquated maunderings of the con¬ 
servatives, the sweet sentimentalities of the na¬ 
tional-liberals, the slippery rhetoric of the social 
democrats! That is education! That is what 
you want! Well, well, enough of that! ’Morn¬ 
ing,” and he disappeared. 

“ An oddity if ever there was one,” thought 
Otto. “ But what he says in his queer genial 
fashion is well worth listening to. Why should 


THE WILL. 


135 


not I . . . ? Though fate has denied me grace to 
depict with artistic touches all this busy whirl I 
may at any rate so far follow my inclinations as to 
try to roll on with the stream.— The professor is 
right. I will study this wonderful social scheme 
with all its diseases and weaknesses — I will prove 
what I am good for — and whether it is worth 
while to get into a rage over it, like Prohle and 
Roderich.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

A WEEK slipped away. Then, one evening on 
his return home from the office, Otto found the 
following note: 

“ My dear Herr Wellner. Doctor Wolf has 
given me your address, and he tells me too that 
you are working well with him. I am glad to 
hear it — at the same time I had expected to see 
something of you ; but, your new occupations, and 
perhaps the untried life of a capital, seem to have 
absorbed you entirely.— Well, I know what a 
young man’s life is. Now, however, I must re¬ 
quest you to come to speak with me on Sunday 
next at eleven o’clock precisely. N. B. Theresien- 



THE WILL. 


136 

strasse, No. 19. I will give you my reasons when 
we meet. With best regards, yours—Lehrbach.” 

Otto felt rather ashamed as he read this note. 
In fact, he was to blame for not having, to this 
hour, called on his kind protector. He had often 
thought of doing so, but had always put it off; he 
could not have said what held him back. Of 
course he wrote a rather long answer, excusing 
himself and expressing the warmest gratitude. 

On Sunday morning he punctually kept his ap¬ 
pointment. He found the lawyer and his young 
wife at breakfast, Lehrbach looking uncommonly 
well and happy. The white tie, which seemed an 
inseparable portion of his individuality, gleamed 
like new-fallen snow, his shrewd kind round face 
was a little flushed. He had on a very handsome 
Bavarian shooting-jacket — his usual dress when 
at home. By her husband’s side, in a cashmere 
wrapper, sat Lucinda — like a May morning by 
the side of a bright Autumn evening. 

“ We are a little late to-day,” said Lehrbach, 
holding out his hand to his young protege, “as 
late as you are in the fulfilment of an obvious 
duty! Nay — you need not wonder at my re¬ 
proof. In spite of every excuse and allowance it 
is very neglectful in you to have let a whole fort¬ 
night pass without once knocking at our door. 


THE WILL. 


137 


What do you say, Lucinda ? We have been at 
home ever since the twenty-sixth, and to-day is 
the tenth. However, leaving myself out of the 
question, I hear that you have even failed to pay 
your respects to my father-in-law, to whom they 
are certainly due. This, my dear fellow, is really 
too bad. How can you hope for promotion if 
you are not civil to the commander-in-chief?” 

Otto repeated what the porter had told him. 

“ ‘ Pride beseems a Spaniard,’” said Lehrbach, 
with a glance at Lucinda. “ Herr von Diiren has, 
to be sure, certain rules and habits — he does not 
receive any one but the editors, some of the fore¬ 
men and head clerks, and a few volunteers; you, 
as a subordinate, have, strictly speaking, no claims 
on him as yet. At the same time, in a case like 
this, the individual in question makes all the dif¬ 
ference. You might have ventured in all confi¬ 
dence — for I may go so far as to say that any 
one recommended by me has a piece on the 
board ...” 

Lucinda, meanwhile, had handed a cup of tea 
to their somewhat abashed visitor; her eye invol¬ 
untarily rested on his grave handsome face which 
betrayed no sign of assent or resentment as her 
husband expressed his views. 

“ The immediate matter in hand is this,” 


138 


THE WILL. 


Lehrbach went on. “ I have a notion, though I 
really do not know why, that a brilliant future lies 
before you ; now, if this future is to work itself 
out, you must positively see something of the 
world, of course, I mean the society of the capital 
and not the world as known to the tourist or the 
African discoverer — not, again, the bustle of 
public amusements, of popular meetings, of taverns 
and gambling hells — you may study all these, 
too, at your leisure ; but the first thing is to get 
a comprehensive view of the scene of your future 
life to get the angles rubbed off, and to familiar¬ 
ize yourself with men and minds and the various 
other problems of life. For this purpose there is 
no better field than my father-in-law’s open and 
hospitable house.” 

A malachite clock over the sofa struck a quar¬ 
ter to twelve ; Lehrbach rose. 

“ I will change my coat,” he said, pushing 
aside his cup, “ and to put an end to all further 
delays I will conduct you in person to the Palazzo 
in the Via del Popolo — so we call the Von Dii- 
ren’s house, in our Academic slang, for he lives in 
the Pappel-strasse.*— And now I will tell you 

* A double pun. Pappel is poplar tree — Poplar street. — Via 
del Popolo is a well-known street in Rome, Popolo being the Italian 
for people, while the Latin Populus means both people and poplar 
tree.— Translator. 


THE WILL. 


139 


why I was in such a hurry to see you. On Thurs¬ 
day next we are to celebrate the betrothal of my 
sister-in-law to Herr von Tyllichau-Sassnitz. 
The entertainment will be the most splendid af¬ 
fair— non plus ultra — of the season, and you 
must positively be present. — So now you know 
all about it. I will be ready in five minutes.” 

He left the room. Lucinda bent over the 
table, playing with a silver knife. Presently she 
looked up and asked with the easy indifference of 
a drawing-room acquaintance: 

“Then you like your new work ?” 

“As much as circumstances will allow, gnddige 
Frau." * 

“ What do you mean ?” 

“ Well, I have every reason to be grateful for 
the good fortune that so quickly — I should 
say . . .” but he paused. 

“ I see,” Lucinda began again, “ that your 
wound is perfectly healed.” 

“ Oh ! it was nothing worth mentioning.” 

“ Doctor Lehrbach did not think so; and the 
surgeon ...” 

He looked enquiringly into her face; he was 

* “ Gracious lady.” This, which is the usual mode of address to 
a lady of rank or a comparative stranger, is not given every time 
that it occurs in the German. The tale is essentially one of modern, 
every-day life, and truth would have been sacrificed to realism if these 
formalities of speech had been literally preserved — Translator. 


140 


THE WILL. 


surprised to hear her speak of her husband so for¬ 
mally by his title and surname. The formality 
might, no doubt, be with her unfamiliar visitor; 
possibly it was merely accidental; but Otto had a 
vague feeling that it implied a respectful distance, 
an unconscious recognition of the wide difference 
in the ages of husband and wife. 

“ Excuse me !” Lucinda suddenly interrupted 
herself— “ I think I heard my husband call. The 
servant is rather inefficient . . 

She went into the adjoining room and Otto 
heard her go across it and open a second door 
where she exchanged a few words with Lehrbach. 

He had leisure now to look round the com¬ 
fortable dining-room. It was panelled with oak 
to about a man’s height, and handsomely fur¬ 
nished ; there was a fine dark-wood sideboard, 
very artistically sculptured with game, hunting- 
trophies, and fruit-pieces; a divan was covered 
with oriental rugs ; the ceiling was coffered and 
carved — everything else was in keeping and the 
tall windows were hung with heavy crimson cur¬ 
tains. The malachite clock was the only object 
that seemed out of place; it looked as though it 
had wandered without leave from the boudoir. 
By one of those queer tricks of thought which so 
often surprise us, it suddenly struck Wellner that 


THE WILL. 


141 

Lucinda — this girl of little over twenty, had the 
same undefinable air of strangeness in this home 
as the fragile little clock in this room. He hated 
himself for the suggestion, but his mind would re¬ 
vert to it. Quite seriously, there was something 
mysterious about it. Thirty years of disparity ! 
In Otto’s judgment a yawning gulf—Lehrbach 
might quite well have been her father. Even on 
that former occasion, at Oberhorchheim, the fact 
had scarcely struck him so forcibly; here the 
question urged itself upon him: What had brought 
these two beings together ? A passionate attach¬ 
ment ?— But the young wife did not give the im¬ 
pression of ever in her life having felt any kind of 
passion. Some irresistible compulsion ? This again 
seemed out of the question, for she wore no look 
of patient endurance, no trace of that deep, unut¬ 
terable sorrow which leaves indelible lines. What 
then ? Doctor Lehrbach was reputed to be enor¬ 
mously rich— but the daughters of Von Diiren 
were far above any absurd suspicion of having been 
sold against their inclinations for the sake of wealth 
of which they had enough and to spare. Otto 
thought it all over in vain; he came to no satis¬ 
factory conclusion. But the elegant and lovely 
creature who had bewitched him, first under the 
spreading arch of the beech-wood and then, again, 


142 


THE WILL. 


in the park — the incarnation to him of the refined 
sphere to which she belonged — gained an added 
charm from the mystery in her life: the chiaro- 
oscuro of romance. 

Otto was standing at the window and gazing 
out meditatively at the street below, when Lucinda 
and the doctor came back into the room. Lehr- 
bach had put on his overcoat; in his right hand 
he held the inseparable companion of his walks— 
an ebony walking-stick with Jupiter’s eagle for its 
handle — in his left a spotless silk hat. Otto took 
leave of the lady of the house with particular for¬ 
mality and followed his patron to the door, where, 
under a portico, a neat brougham was waiting. 
A pair of thorough-breds dashed out into the 
roadway and they drove through the lonely park 
with aristocratic swiftness, reaching the residence 
of the Von Diirens in about ten minutes. 

Notwithstanding his reserve of manner the 
famous publisher could not conceal his astonish¬ 
ment at this morning-call, in all the forms, from 
his young clerk, brought by Doctor Lehrbach. 
Lehrbach, for his part, seemed to find pleasure in 
his astonishment; but, indeed, there could be no 
greater contrast than that between the always 
jolly and talkative lawyer and his father-in-law, 
who was his junior by three or four years. Beyond 


TIIE WILL. 


143 


a doubt Georg von Diiren, both by nature and in 
his views of life was a much older man than Lehr- 
bach. His finely cut, rather sallow face showed, 
it is true, few marks of age, but there was a joy¬ 
less, anxious pinch at the corners of his mouth — 
a look as of a solitary soul in the midst of all the 
lavish splendor of this palatial home. For it was 
a palace; the architecture was princely and the 
magnificence of the decoration unique in the city. 

When they entered Frau von Diiren was with 
her husband — a quiet, fair woman of about forty, 
remarkably unpretending in demeanor, and dressed 
in a style by no means corresponding to the splen¬ 
dor of her habitation. She spoke very little; it 
seemed as though she had acquired this taciturnity 

— which could hardly have been natural to her — 
in the course of many years in the society of her 
husband. Indeed, if Doctor Lehrbach had not 
kept up the conversation with his unfailing amia¬ 
bility, Otto Wellner’s position would have been 
awkward to the last degree. 

The lawyer presently asked after Camilla. 
Otto noticed that Camilla’s mother sighed, while 
her father’s fixed features brightened up for a mo¬ 
ment. But it was Frau von Diiren who answered : 

— Camilla had been very busy that morning. 
First she had written a number of letters — thanks 


144 


THE WILL. 


for congratulations which had poured in upon her 
from every point of the compass ; then Orloni, 
the fashionable jeweller, had displayed his treasures 
that she might select a diadem of brilliants ; and 
now she was engaged with a woman from a 
famous lace-shop. 

“ Indeed, my dear friend,” added the lady 
with a forced smile, “ a man can have no idea of 
the revolution that such an event entails in the 
life of a young girl — particularly when the wed¬ 
ding is to take place with so brief a delay as in 
this case.” 

Lehrbach assured her that he understood per¬ 
fectly and was greatly interested in it, as in every¬ 
thing that concerned the joys and happiness of 
young people; and then he skilfully led on to the 
subject of the great entertainment, in such a man¬ 
ner that Herr von Diiren could not escape the 
obvious politeness that was suggested to him. In 
short, when they rose at the end of a quarter of an 
hour, Otto held in his hand a formal card of invi¬ 
tation ; Lehrbach was as radiant as though he had 
achieved a master-stroke of diplomatic skill. 

As they crossed the hall they met a young 
girl, followed by a boy carrying a milliner’s box 
with a leather strap. The young woman, evidently 
not quite a lady, was dressed in good clothes 


THE WILL. 


145 


though not in the best taste, and her eyes had a 
bold glance from beneath her ornate and rather 
conspicuous hat. She colored as she passed and 
Otto recognized Fraulein Adele, his landlady’s 
niece. 

He himself could not have said what instinct 
led him to ignore their acquaintance, here, in the 
hall of the Von Diiren’s mansion. Doctor Lehr- 
bach, he felt quite certain, would, under similar 
circumstances, have bowed to the young lady. 
Was it the benumbing influence of gentility which 
made him feel rebellious against anything that 
could remind him of his own modest position, or 
was it an involuntary protest against that glance 
and that audacious hat ? Be that as it may, he 
turned to his companion asking him the first 
question that occurred to him. 

Adele had been no less astonished to see her 
fellow-lodger here with a gentleman who, by his 
manner, was evidently intimate and at home in the 
house. Herr Otto seemed to know what he was 
about! He had only just been appointed to a 
very unpretending post, and here he was, in a fine 
frock-coat, wandering about the stairs and passa¬ 
ges of his employer’s house ! It was a pity there 
was not a daughter left for him — the poor book¬ 
binder’s son from Halldorf might have put in his 


Vol. 1. 


10 


146 


THE WILL. 


claim to the hand of one of the heiresses !. . . and 
as she made these reflections Adele Jakoby curled 
her lip a little. Then she shrugged her shoulders 
as much as to say: 

“ Well, he is quite right. How a man reaches 
the goal matters little—the point is that he should 
reach it.” 

She paused for a moment, looking back at a 
fine group in marble that graced the landing 
above. 

“ Splendid !” she muttered. “ It is fit for a 
Queen ! That simpleton Camilla ! How came 
she I wonder to be hatched in such a gorgeous 
nest and get the handsomest man for twenty miles 
round for a husband ! It is monstrous !” 

Then, turning to the boy, she said aloud : 
“ Look sharp, Alfred, it is nearly twelve, and as to 
wasting the whole of my Sunday just to please a 
fine lady—thank you for nothing. Besides, it does 
not suit my book to be at Herr Toussaint’s orders 
from week’s end to week’s end.— Now, what are 
you gaping at ? Please to remember that I have 
forbidden you, once for all, to cast silly sheep’s 
eyes at me.” 

“ Oh ! Miss Adele ...” was all the lad could 
find to say; he blushed purple and then humbly 
fell behind. 


THE WILL. 


147 


Lehrbach and Otto had meanwhile driven off. 

“ I will put you down at the Hochmarkt,” 
said the lawyer. “ I would have asked you to 
dinner, but unfortunately we are engaged to dine 
with Herr von Lobbing — you know, the member 
— but if at any time you have an hour or two to 
spare . . . quite without ceremony. Every three 
weeks — always on Tuesdays — you will find a 
rather large gathering; but we have little meet¬ 
ings too sometimes. We make music or talk — 
of course you play Ombre , but even if you do 
not . . .” 

Otto thanked the worthy friend who heaped 
so much kindness on him ; in a few minutes they 
reached the spot where the street turned off and 
led westward. Otto got out, bowed politely to the 
owner of the carriage as it rolled away, and was 
starting on his walk at a brisk pace, along the 
crowded foot-way, when he caught sight of a well- 
dressed man who seemed much surprised to see 
him there. This man — who might be nearly 
sixty — had turned round, close to the place where 
Lehrbach’s carriage had pulled up, with his back 
to a tobacconist’s shop, and seemed to have been 
a spectator of Otto’s parting from the lawyer. 
Now, when he saw the young man’s face, he 
looked so excessively astonished, that Wellner 

10 1 

'.fr 


148 


THE WILL. 


himself was struck and looked enquiringly at the 
stranger. He tried to remember whether he had 
ever seen him before; but his memory, which was 
a good one, positively answered : No. 

“Bah!” thought he as he walked on : “Some 
mistake! The man looks like an old gaby—per¬ 
haps I am so unlucky as to be very like the tailor 
to whom he owes a year’s bill.” And he went on 
down the Louisenstrasse. 

It was a lovely day, rather cool, but so clear 
and sunny that its brightness was reflected in 
every face. The whole street had a holiday as¬ 
pect; gay dresses, such as are commonly seen 
only in the early days of spring, were thickly 
sprinkled among the crowd, and open carriages 
were numerous. As Otto was crossing the next 
side street he recognized a florid, fair woman, 
lounging with pretentious ease in a coupe lined 
with scarlet; this was the highly sensitive widow, 
Marianne Tharow, who had remonstrated so earn¬ 
estly with the editor on the attributes of the 
Countess Etelka. Otto involuntarily raised his 
hat and the lady seemed extravagantly touched 
by this act of politeness. Her face beamed, and 
she returned the civility with an expression of ra¬ 
diant satisfaction. This little performance attracted 
the attention of a lady who was with her and 


THE WILL. 


149 


whose face was hidden from Otto behind a large 
silk fan; she turned to look at him. 

Otto thought he must be dreaming. Sitting 
by the widow — whose theatrical elegance im¬ 
pressed even the young provincial as meretricious 
— sat the fair-haired waitress from the Golden 
Anchor at Gernsheim! But how altered — her 
eyes, formerly downcast, were as radiant as the 
sunshine, and there was an eager quiver in her 
delicate nostrils as though the atmosphere of the 
great city had an intoxicating effect on her senses. 
She was beautifully dressed, without any of the 
overloaded and vulgar costliness which stamped 
Marianne’s violet velvet costume; on the con¬ 
trary, all was simple, tasteful, and becoming. In 
short she looked a perfect lady. Seeing them 
thus, side by side, Frau Tharow might have been 
taken for a governess who had blown into a 
duenna, in charge of a pupil past the age of 
lessons. 

A marvellous transformation ! 

Before Otto had recovered from his surprise 
the carriage, with its belaced coachman and shiny¬ 
haired groom, was lost in the chaos of vehicles. 

The clocks were striking one. Frau Lersner 
gave an early dinner on Sundays, and Otto hur¬ 
ried on, for the dame loved punctuality; his 


150 


THE WILL. 


thoughts were still in a state of bewilderment 
when he reached his lodgings. 

“ Herr Wellner,” cried a voice behind him as 
he reached the door. It was Prohle, coming out 
of a neighboring beer-shop. 

“Wait a minute, Herr Wellner,” he roared 
once more. “We will go in together; I have 
something to say to you.” 

But Otto did not heed him : about a hundred 
yards away he again saw the dandified figure of 
the elderly man who had stared so much at seeing 
him get out of the lawyer’s carriage. When he 
perceived that Otto had recognized him he hastily 
turned into the next doorway. 

“ What on earth is the meaning of this ?” 
thought Otto, and he absently shook hands with 
the type-founder. 

“ Do you know what ?” he said as Prohle led 
him into the house with homely familiarity, “ I 
really believe that my intimacy with you and 
Lund has already laid me open to suspicions of 
conspiracy!” 

“ How so ?” 

“ Oh, I am only joking. But all the way from 
the Louisenstrasse I have been followed by a man 
who, if he is neither a pick-pocket nor a detective, 
is a very mysterious stranger. Just step behind 


THE WILL. 


15 I 

the door, will you — so; now, I will wager any¬ 
thing that he will be out in two minutes. Or 
wait — better still — we will go to the staircase 
window above.” 

They went up to the first floor and looked 
over the window blind. In fact, within a few 
seconds, the man reappeared, carrying an over¬ 
coat on his arm and a light stick in his hand; he 
walked slowly past the house looking at it again 
and again, and taking careful note of the number. 

“ That’s queer,” observed Prohle. 

“Very queer — that is just what I say. Do 
you happen to know the man ?” 

“ How should I. The likes of me have no 
business with that sort of gentry.” 

“ That is a pity !” 

“ Perhaps Fraulein Jakoby knows him,” said 
the type-founder. “ She knows everybody — the 
first families as they say ...” 

“ Indeed.” 

“ In the way of business of course; and be¬ 
cause she takes an interest in everything hand¬ 
some and rich. A princess was spoilt in the 
making of her ...” 

“ Well, as she is not here we must give it up. 
After all, perhaps the man has taken a fancy to 
me — perhaps he admires the pattern of my neck- 


/ 


152 


THE WILL. 


tie! Fops like him, who cumber God’s earth, 
have wonderful fancies. — Come along; I am 
desperately hungry.” 

And they went up-stairs. 

CHAPTER X. 

The stranger, meanwhile, had walked a few 
hundred yards further westwards, followed by the 
wondering gaze of the women who stood here and 
there in the doorways, dressed in their Sunday 
clothes, and crowded round by clinging little ones. 
The whole neighborhood of the Sandgasse was so 
exclusively inhabited by poor folks that such a 
graceful apparition, in his shining top-hat, tightly- 
fitting blue cloth coat and well-cut trousers, could 
not fail to excite attention. He presently stood 
still, and passed his hand over the smooth black 
hair that contrasted so strangely with his pinched 
features, while some muttered observation fell 
from his thin aristocratic lips. Then he nodded 
as though he had come to a definite resolution. 
With a slight shiver he buttoned his coat to the 
throat and turned on his heel. Was it the keen 
north-west wind that had chilled him ? Or was it 
that he shuddered as he remembered the strange 


THE WILL. 


153 


impression that had weighed on him all the way- 
hither from the Louisenstrasse ? Now, at any 
rate, he seemed to have settled the matter. He 
struck his breast, with a military swagger, so that 
the starched armor of his shirt-front crackled 
slightly, twirled his gold-topped cane in his fingers 
for a minute, and then stepped out at the short 
brisk pace which is characteristic of an elderly and 
methodical man. The further he got from the 
house number 70, the more freely and carelessly 
he looked about him. He now found leisure to 
glance at the workmen’s pretty wives, with the 
eye of a connoisseur in youth and beauty—a 
pleasure which he could indulge in out here in the 
suburb with perfect freedom, since he was certain 
that none of his wide circle of acquaintance would 
meet him and laugh at the democratic develop¬ 
ment of his taste. He even leered knowingly in 
at the windows. 

He had just cast an eye into the flower-decked 
casement of a ground-floor room, where a hand¬ 
some young woman was sitting with a child on 
her knee, when his arm, over which he still was 
carrying his overcoat, hit a young girl who was 
hurrying down the street without looking very 
carefully where she was going. 

“ I beg your pardon !” he said in some con- 


154 


THE WILL. 


fusion. “ Ah ! what a happy accident! It is you, 
young lady ! 1 have looked out for you for weeks, 
but in vain.” 

It was Adele Jakoby, on her way home. Her 
pretty, saucy face, which bore traces of annoy¬ 
ance, put on a pleasanter expression at the old 
dandy’s address. Her eyes lighted up, but her 
lips curled rather disdainfully. 

“ I must beg you not to keep me,” she said in 
low tones. “ It is dinner-time, and I am very 
late already.” 

“ Very late ! Gracious Powers ! Is it then of 
such vital importance that you should be present 
when the Sunday mess of pottage is ladled out ? 
As I told you last time, I have very important 
business to discuss with you — yes, indeed, you 
sweet little rogue, very serious and important 
business, and I will not allow you now . . 

“ But I implore you . . .” said Adele. 

“ Well, if you positively must go home, I will 
go with you. Then I shall know where you live 
— stony-hearted fair one !” 

“ On no consideration whatever. That would 
be a mess indeed; here, in the Sandgasse, where 
everyone knows me ...” 

“ But you must positively give me the oppor¬ 
tunity— I thought you knew by this time whom 


THE WILL. 


155 


you have to deal with. 1 am not one of those 
volatile profligates who do not reckon on the 
weight or result of their words and actions ; I 
mean honestly well by you . . . Oh ! you may 
shrug your shoulders ; the truth remains the truth 
all the same.— Now, leave your home folks to 
swallow their soup without you, and give me just 
a quarter of an hour! There — you see that 
pastry-cook’s — a glass of Malaga before dinner 
will do you all the good in the world, and Mamma 
will keep a slice of the joint for you.” 

“But I have no Mamma—and I don’t care 
for your Malaga.” 

“ Well, well, Sherry then — or a cup of choco¬ 
late— only come along — the woman in there is 
beginning to wonder, and it is you who are at¬ 
tracting attention to our meeting ! I should be 
distressed, Fraulein Helene — that is your name, 
I think. Come, take my arm.” 

“ What are you dreaming of,” said Adele. 
“ Arm in arm with a gentleman whom I never 
met but once before !” and she protested in virtu¬ 
ous earnest, though she quietly walked on by the 
side of the stranger who now crossed the street. 

“ Well then, Fraulein Helene . . .” 

“Adele is my name.” 

“ A thousand pardons — my memory is so 


156 


THE WILL. 


bad !—Well then, Fraulein Adele, the first thing 
I have to say to you is that, ever since the even¬ 
ing when you so mysteriously vanished, I have 
every day gone down the Marienstrasse at the 
same hour — but in vain. You must have been 
living like a nun.” 

“Not I,” laughed the girl. “The fact is that I 
have no business to take me in that direction. 
Besides, do you for a moment suppose that I be¬ 
lieved all your fine speeches ?” 

“ By all that is holy, dear Adele ...” 

“Bah! Have done with protestations!” she 
interrupted sharply. “Do you think they are 
new, or a treat to me ? Once for all, what is the 
wonderful secret you were so full of when we last 
met.” 

“You shall know that as soon as we are 
within four walls.” 

He opened the glass door of the pastry-cook’s 
shop and held it with a gallant bow for Adele to 
pass in. The heedless girl rustled past him — he 
followed her, and the door closed with a rattle. 
They went through the shop to a side room where 
only one customer was sitting at the marble table. 
The shop was not in fact much frequented, and at 
this hour might as well have closed, for business 
was slack till about three in the afternoon. 


THE WILL. 


157 


The man who sat in the remotest corner with a 
cup of coffee on the table between his elbows, 
muttering over the columns of a dirty newspaper, 
might perhaps have chosen it for its loneliness; 
for his face was morosely misanthropical and a 
look of malicious cunning lurked in the lines of 
his lips and straw-colored stubbly moustache. 

Ephraim Peltzer—for it was he—had gone 
through various unpleasant experiences since the 
outrageous scene in the wood of Oberhorchheim. 
After spending his rage at his dismissal from the 
manufactory at Gernsheim in his fling at Otto’s 
head, he had indulged in rosy dreams of his future 
career. But the Metropolis which his conceit 
had made him believe would be, for him, an El- 
Dorado, had as yet proved a barren desert. He 
had sought work in vain ; his line of industry was 
full to overflowing. The promises of which the 
socialist agitator Leopold Meynert had been so 
lavish — promises of free and ready help from all 
the “associates” — had proved for the most part 
fallacious. Ephraim Peltzer’s small savings were 
melting with ominous rapidity. Day after day he 
studied the advertisements in the papers, quite 
willing to serve as a salesman or messenger, but 
in vain. 

So here he sat brooding — hardly caring to 


i 5 8 


S 


THE WILL. 


copy out the few addresses the paper contained— 
when Adele and her strange companion seated 
themselves at the other end of the room. He 
eyed them with disfavor; he knew enough of 
the world to see at once that they were not father 
and daughter. He recognized in the gentleman, 
with his carefully-waxed moustache and shining 
kid gloves, the aristocratic vulture, though the 
girl hardly answered to epithet of the dove. The 
fury of the working-man who sees the rich treat¬ 
ing a woman of inferior rank as a mere toy was 
streaked by a dull flame of jealousy; for Peltzer 
thought that he had not for many a day, seen so 
bewitching a creature. That those cherry lips 
should bestow a smile on that old rake, when “the 
likes of him” would probably have sued and toiled 
for it in vain, he felt as a personal injury, an af¬ 
front which, in his present savage and humbled 
mood, rubbed him greatly against the grain. As 
often happens, a trifling incident led to events 
that altered the course of a whole life. The spark¬ 
ling sherry in the little cut glasses were in Pelt- 
zer’s eyes the drops that made his cup of bitterness 
overflow. A voice seemed suddenly to say to 
him: “You fool! Why it might all be yours if 
only you had the pluck ...” 

His memory hastily reminded him of all the 


THE WILL. 


1 59 


opportunities when, as he believed, he might have 
got a start in the world if it had not been for some 
personal prejudice and spite: He had been too 
honest — if only he had grabbed and held, things 
would have been very different; by this time he 
might have been a made man and have laughed 
at that gawky ass ! It was maddening*— a curse 
on Socialism ! What had it done for him ? It 
had thrown him on his beam-ends after he had 
been fool enough to build a ladder for others to 
rise by, and now he might look in vain for anyone 
to pick him up again. 

There he sat, biting his nails and hardly know¬ 
ing whether the burning misery that gnawed at 
his vitals were hunger or rage. The stranger 
meanwhile was talking to Adele Jakoby in an 
undertone. 

“You see, my dear,” he began, as he drew off 
his gloves, “I am an artist — devoted to art. So 
you cannot be surprised that I should pursue a 
young lady so perfectly charming as yourself with 
a certain degree of persistency ...” 

“Indeed,” said Adele. “An artist? And 
what is the art you are devoted to ? Drinking 
champagne ? Eating truffles ? An artist ? — a 
very happy thought, I must say—-and most 
amusing!” 


i6o 


THE WILL. 


“ But really, my dear, I do not know what 
right you have . . . Do you know me ?” 

“ Of course I do.” 

“ But you said the other day . . .” 

“ The other day it is true I had not the honor,. 
Herr von Sunthelm; but since then I have 
watched you three or four times ... in the evening, 
you know, in the Louisenstrasse when you are 
hanging about the shop-windows with that ele¬ 
gant cane in your hand — and once, as it hap¬ 
pened, I had a friend with me — a young lady to 
whom you told the same story about being an 
artist.— Well, she knows you, you see.” 

“ Not so loud,” said her companion, pressing a 
lean finger to her pouting lips. “ People might 
misunderstand . . . my name, in fact, is Sunthelm 
— Baron Anastasius von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe. 
But that does not disprove my former statement..” 

“ We need not quarrel over it,” said Adele 
emptying her glass. “ You are an artist; but you 
are something else besides. You are a bored old 
gentleman who likes a little gay society. You 
have taken it into your head that the forewomen 
and sewing-girls of a milliner’s shop are more 
amusing to talk to than the fine ladies in your 
drawing-rooms, and so you condescend to notice 
my insignificant person. But you have no secret 


THE WILL. 


161 


to tell me — that I knew from the first; only I 
thought you were minded just to let me see what 
kind Grandpapa would treat me to— so here I am. 
But now, my lord artist, I will make myself 
scarce. Thanks for the sherry ! I must positively 
get home.” 

There was such an engaging pertness in her 
way of saying it, her face was so radiant with 
youth and audacity, her voice had such a happy 
ring, that the baron felt a volcanic warmth 
in the burnt-out crater of his passions which re¬ 
minded him of their earlier fires. 

“ But, Fraulein Adele,” he said detaining her 
firmly, “ I positively will not let you go. We 
must meet again — promise me — and I must 
know your name, and where you live . . ” 

“ No, no, there is no need for that,” laughed 
the girl. “ Unless you wish to call on the family. 
My aunt would stare to see such an aristocratic 
grandpapa climbing up four flights of stairs.” 

“ A grandpapa ! But you will have your 
joke. Now, between ourselves, how old do you 
think I am !’* 

“ Between sixty and seventy” 

“ Ninety,” said Anastasius with rather forced 
irony. “ Seriously, Fraulein Adele, you are 


Vol. /. 


ii 


162 


THE WILL. 


strong in compliments ! But now — I entreat 
you—just five minutes. What is your name ?” 

“ Mercy on me, it cannot interest you.” 

“ It interests me excessively. I solemnly im¬ 
plore you . . .” 

“ My name is Adele Jalcoby. Now, what are 
you the wiser ? My aunt will not ask you to tea 
any the more for that.” 

“Your aunt? You live with your aunt? 
Where does she reside, pray ?” 

“ Hereabouts — not far off.” 

“The street, the number?” 

“ Sandgasse, number seventy.” 

“ What!” cried the baron, startled. 

“ What is the matter ?” 

“ Nothing, nothing,” muttered the baron; but 
his gay humor had suddenly vanished ; his inter¬ 
est in the pretty milliner was supplanted by a more 
serious and less romantic consideration : Seventy ; 
that was the number that he had only just now 
registered in his memory after so much delibera¬ 
tion. He longed to go at once to the point; to 
ask the plain question: whether, in the same 
house, there was a young man lodging — a tall 
young man, named Otto — to the best of his be¬ 
lief Otto Thiemssen; what the young man was 


THE WILL. 


163 

doing, and in what relation he stood to Doctor 
Lehrbach, Herr von Diiren’s son-in-law. But his 
worldly wisdom warned him in time that such a 
string of eager enquiries would puzzle the girl 
and put her on her guard. So he carried on the 
part of a gallant lover — which had indeed been 
genuine till within a few minutes — with an artis¬ 
tic infusion of romance. He ascribed all his curi¬ 
osity to his interest in Adele, pretending to think 
of Otto as a possible rival whose character and 
habits he tried to investigate under the pretext of 
jealousy. Adele, whose tongue was quickened by 
the sherry, saved him the trouble of asking many 
questions; she told him, with delightful candor, 
all about her aunt, Emma, Roderich and his un¬ 
finished tragedy, Prohle and his bearish devotion, 
and finally about Otto Wellner who. had come 
from Halldorf and had only lodged in the house 
for the last few weeks. 

“Then it is Wellner, not Thiemssen,” thought 
the gentleman with a sigh of relief; in fact, he 
thought he had heard the broad-shouldered fellow 
who had addressed the young man at the door¬ 
way say Wellner — not Thiemssen. But then 
again, he remembered Otto as he had seen him 
get out of the carriage and walk on, only a yard 
or two in front of him. The evidence of his ap- 


THE WILL. 


164 

pearance was stronger than the reassuring in¬ 
formation as to his name. 

He had nothing immediately to fear, to be 
sure; everything was so carefully arranged, so 
admirably planned . . . Nevertheless, if it were he, 
the presence of this man, who was, besides, on 
such intimate terms with Doctor Lehrbach, must 
be a constant weight on the baron’s soul . . . for 
who could tell what tricks Fate might choose to 
play ? 

Molbeck, formerly his valet, had, twenty years 
since, acquired the intelligence that Thiemssen, 
who — as he was credibly informed — had till 
then carried on business as a brewer at St. Louis 
in the United States, had suddenly quitted that 
city, explaining that his wife could not live in the 
climate of the Mississippi Valley. From that time 
all trace of him had been lost. It seemed proba¬ 
ble, however, that he was since dead, for he had 
been an ailing man, and even then was nearly 
fifty. But no one knew for certain, and Molbeck, 
a genius in the arts of intrigue and the only per¬ 
son who might perhaps have succeeded in solving 
the mystery — if the baron had required him to 
do so — had been sleeping for more than thirteen 
years under a tall marble cross with the inscrip¬ 
tion : “To the memory of a faithful servant and a 


THE WILL. 


165 


noble and unselfish heart.” — If now quite unex¬ 
pectedly — by some extraordinary chance — if 
this Thiemssen were still living and were to die in 
delirium as Molbeck had died ... or even if Mol- 
beck’s widow were to happen to see this Otto, and 
be as much startled by his extraordinary resem¬ 
blance as the baron himself had been ? 

This widow, in fact, was an incubus on the 
baron’s mind, a hideous nightmare who, from 
time to time, cost him hours of terrible anxiety. 
She gave no sign, to be sure, and was a peaceable, 
pious, honest widow, who even now, after thirteen 
years, shed tears of regret whenever she spoke of 
her husband; the guilty man’s conscience was 
roused to torment without any external impul¬ 
sion ; but one important cause of his recurring 
qualms was intimately connected with Frau The- 
rese Molbeck. Shortly after Molbeck’s death the 
baron had received a note by post with no signa¬ 
ture at the end. 

“May God forgive you,” it said, “ as He for¬ 
gave the wretched Heribert Molbeck, for he is 
gone to his grave with a penitent and contrite 
heart. God rejoiceth over the sinner that repen- 
teth; do you then also repent, for the Angel of 
Death approaches swiftly, and the vengeance of 
the Lord, though delayed, is sure.” 


THE WILL. 


166 

Sunthelm had at once suspected Frau Therese 
Molbeck of the authorship of this effusion, which 
cost him many weeks of sleepless nights; and 
after much cogitation and cautious enquiry he be¬ 
came certain of this fact. Till this hour the terri¬ 
ble woman had not spoken, often as the baron 
had felt gruesome presentiments of the worst; but 
now — now she would emerge from her obscurity. 
She had been silent out of respect for her de¬ 
ceased husband whom she still idolized, and whose 
crime she believed to have been expiated by his 
death-bed repentance, and also because she 
dreaded the idea of a contest with an aristocratic 
and influential man who might easily turn the 
tables on her and ruin her character by declaring 
her accusation was false. In point of fact this was 
just what Anastasius, in his calmer moments, was 
prepared to do. The mere word of this very ex¬ 
cited person, who was known to suffer from re¬ 
ligious hysteria, would be a feather-weight in the 
scale against the prestige and importance of a 
Von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe, and she had no evi¬ 
dence to support her assertions. Besides, every¬ 
thing agreed so perfectly: the doctor’s evidence, 
the certificate of death, all the circumstances . . . 
No, all was safe; Sunthelm never felt a qualm ex¬ 
cepting when a secret presentiment, a delirious 


THE WILL. 


167 

dread of being followed up came over him — and 
these were less frequent as years went on . . . But 
now he could not help saying to himself: “ If 
Frau Molbeck should see this Otto, and, like me 
thinks she recognizes him — who knows to what 
some devil may not drive her!” The mere possi¬ 
bility seemed to sear his soul, and everything that 
concerned Otto had a painful interest for him. 

At any rate he must acquire the certainty 
whether this Otto could be the man he took him 
for, or whether the resemblance were a mere 
spiteful freak of nature; but he could only achieve 
this by gaining the fullest information as to Otto’s 
present life and past history. An intimacy with 
Adele would evidently be an invaluable means to 
that end ; thus it might be possible to combine 
business with pleasure. 

“Well, but quite seriously. . said Adele 
pushing back her chair. “ I do not know how I 
can account to the others for my long absence. 
And that stupid sherry — it gets into one’s head 
so that one can even mistake such a — such a 
stupid, old — artist, for an amiable young man ! 
Yes indeed, Herr von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe, you 
really look thirty years younger than you did just 
now ; you have quite pretty pink cheeks — a little 
hollow, but very nice. Well, give my duty to 


i68 


THE WILL. 


your lady-wife — you are married, I know — poor 
young man, and what then ? Retribution for this 
sherry will soon overtake you !” 

‘‘Sweet little rogue!” murmured Anastasius, 
still feeling uncomfortable. “ Then we shall meet 
again ?” 

“ Certainly, for aught I mind. But let my 
hand alone, that everlasting patting and squeezing 
makes me nervous.— That stupid sherry. . .!” 

“ Where can we meet ?” 

“ At the corner of the Mauerstrasse; I pass 
there every evening. But I warn you, I shall not 
wait one second.” 

“Very well, ail revoh' then. I will not offer 
to take you home — as a precaution ...” 

“No, you stop here and finish the bottle; it 
will make your cheeks pinker still.” 

She laughed and went out. 

“ What a horrible man !” she said to herself. 
“ An old rip like that, and so desperately in love ! 
But I cannot think . . . .What are such creatures for 
in the world, unless Providence has sent them on 
purpose to buy a pretty necklace now and then or 
an opera-box for a poor little thing like me ? But 
they are dull old bones, all the lot of them, and 
Herr Ewald is no more likely to marry me than 
Anastasius von Sunthelm. Now a fellow like 


THE WILL. 


169 

Prohle — I might eat him out of house and home. 
—But thank you for nothing ! To settle down in a 
hole not half as large as my aunt’s room and work 
from morning till night like a galley-slave .... Let 
those do it that like it.” And humming a gay 
tune as she went, she hurried down the next turn¬ 
ing to the lodging-house in the Sandgasse. 

Baron von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe sat sunk in 
the strangest reflections. The strong wine, of 
which he had drunk a considerable quantity dur¬ 
ing his interview with Adele Jakoby, did not, it is 
true, go to hi’s head as it had to that of his pert 
little companion, but it threw a cloud of melan¬ 
choly over his mood. Anastasius had reached 
the point where self-pity plays strange tricks with 
the fancy. He excused himself, he accused him¬ 
self, he pitied himself. After all, what had he 
done that was so dreadful ? I11 the eyes of the 

world, to be sure — according to the letter of the 
law. — But the law judged superficially and bru¬ 
tally, from mere external circumstances; it had 
no knowledge of psychology; it could not do jus¬ 
tice to the baron’s transcendental needs — his ap¬ 
preciation of the pleasures of life, his cultivated 
sense of the charms of luxury, his aesthetic aver¬ 
sion for the coarse details of a plebeian existence. 
Nay, had law, in its ruthlessness any conception 


170 


THE WILL. 


of hard necessity or of the natural rights of 
man ? 

Herr von Sunthelm poured out the rest of the 
sherry and gazed absently into the clear red-gold. 
He did not notice a stout man — a master butcher 
or baker perhaps — whose rotund person was em¬ 
phasized by a thick watch-chain, who now came 
into the room in hob-nailed shoes, with a heavy 
tread that shook the floor, and seated himself on 
one of the little cane chairs with a groaning sigh 
that made the joints creak. It was not till a quar¬ 
ter of an hour later, when this man was complain¬ 
ing in no measured terms of the woman at the 
counter for having refused to give him a light for 
his cigar, that Anastasius looked up. Then he re¬ 
membered that it was time to go home, as he was 
expecting friends to dinner. So he went into the 
front shop and paid his reckoning, while the new¬ 
comer, still growling, took up the last number of 
the “ Glocke.” 

When he got outside he stood still a minute 
or two; he*drew a deep breath, meditatively, as 
though he could thus exhale, once for all, the op¬ 
pression that had closed in upon him during his 
anxious reverie. Then he slowly walked past the 
shop-windows, reading, without much heeding, 
the six or eight announcements that orna- 



THE WILL. 


171 


mented them: “Pastry-cook,” “Luncheon-room,” 
“ Bouillon fresh daily.” — But on reaching the last 
window he started ; peeping between the wires of 
the blind he saw Ephraim Peltzer, who had stolen 
up behind the stout customer, softly take a pocket- 
book out of the breast pocket of the latter’s over¬ 
coat. The instant after, Sunthelm heard the ras¬ 
cal’s steps behind him, and he, like Anastasius 
himself, went off towards the heart of the city. 

The baron’s first impulse was" to call for the 
police. But he thought better of it. So soon 
after his unwished-for meeting with Otto—who 
called himself Wellner, but whose name perhaps 
was Thiemssen — it struck him that it might be 
very convenient to have the whip-hand of so un¬ 
scrupulous, and at the same time so neat-handed 
and cool-headed a man as this ruffianly workman. 
All he had to do, as the rascal had soon over¬ 
taken him, was to keep this new object of interest 
in view, as closely as, an hour or two since, he had 
watched the young man from number 70 in the 
Sandgasse ; to discover the thief’s lodging, and 
to be certain of his identity. At a short distance 
further stood a drosky for hire; the baron got 
in and promised the driver a handsome gratuity 
if he kept the man in sight. 

In a quarter of an hour Anastasius von Sunt- 


1 1 2 


THE WILL. 


helm-Hiddensoe was deposited at the door of a 
squalid tavern, into which he followed Peltzer 
with no small disgust. At the foot of the stairs 
stood a smart-looking fellow just going out, and 
in the very act of polishing up the leather peak 
of his cap. This was the landlady’s son, and in 
reply to the baron’s questions he was ready with 
the fullest information; he did not seem to enter¬ 
tain a very high opinion of the individual in ques¬ 
tion. Peltzer was a man always seeking a quarrel; 
he was in debt for his week’s lodging two marks 
thirty, and for breakfasts sixty pfennige ;* an 
amount of arrears never before heard of since 
Frau Wilczek had kept her inn. Herr von Sunt- 
helm took out his purse. 

“ Here, my boy,” he said holding out a twenty- 
mark piece with his very finger tips. “ This is to 
square the arrears, and you may keep the rest. 
I take a particular interest in this Herr Peltzer; 
try to find out, and let me know, where he goes 
if he should happen to leave these quarters. I 
will call some time and enquire. But above every¬ 
thing keep your tongue quiet.— Do you under¬ 
stand ?” 

“Do I understand !” grinned the lad weighing 
the gold piece in the palm of his hand. 

Altogether nearly a dollar. 


THE WILL. 


173 


“ So much the better for you.” 

“ Good-day, my lord,” said the boy with a 
comically loutish bow, as Sunthelm went out into 
the street. “ And many thanks to your excel¬ 
lency !” 

Anastasius smiled, and walked up the street 
with his most aristocratic air to the corner where 
the hackney-carriage was waiting. 

And so he got home, tired out and still suffer¬ 
ing from the oppressive after-taste of his dismal 
meditations, though somewhat encouraged by his 
little success in the matter of Ephraim Peltzer. 


CHAPTER XI. 

It was a week after the events just related. 
Otto Wellner had a series of tiresome tasks before 
him, to be finished by six o’clock, among them 
the revision of the panegyric on the universal and 
bountiful liberality of the Baroness Eleonora von 
Sunthelm, and the compilation of a biographical 
notice which did not in the least command his 
sympathies. A painstaking clerk, whose business 
it was to draw up these biographies, had suddenly 
been taken ill, and the article was needed at once. 
When Otto, with pain and labor, had got through 


W 4 


THE WILL. 


the task he had a short skirmish with the editor- 
in-chief who objected to the cool and occasionally 
ironical tone of the paper. 

Otto replied with modest decision that he had 
moderated the expression of his own views as far 
as possible, but that he could not call a thing 
white when he saw it black. 

Doctor Wolf considered this remark as out of 
place, since Herr Otto Wellner was in no way 
pledged as representing an opinion but was merely 
an instrument — a pen, so to speak — in the edi¬ 
tor’s hands. Otto retorted, and the result of this 
debate was a slight unpleasantness scarcely ap¬ 
parent in a man so habitually cool and dignified 
as Dr. Wolf, but not the less painfully perceptible 
to his assistant. Thus it happened that Otto 
reached home in anything rather than a compla¬ 
cent frame of mind, quite unconscious that the fit 
of irritability under which he had, in fact, been la¬ 
boring for some few days, had any deeper source. 

The impression made upon him by the home 
life of the Lehrbachs and the Von Durens had 
left a reaction like that of intense light on the 
eyes ; the mental retina had been over-stimulated, 
and it reproduced a hundred scenes and figures 
which were as persistent as the image of the sun 
— and the central object of them all w r as the face 


THE WILL. 


175 


of the beautiful Lucinda. Yes, he was out of 
heart — with the world, with himself, with what 
he wished and with what he was. The whole shift¬ 
ing kaleidoscope of life was odious, aimless, inco¬ 
herent. There was Herr von Dtiren rolling in his 
millions and incapable of a smile; Lucinda in the 
sweet bloom of womanhood almost as wordless as 
her inscrutable father; Doctor Lehrbach at her side 
— content, to be sure, and flourishing, but hardly 
less proud and happy, as it seemed, of his thor¬ 
ough-bred horses and Persian carpets than of his 
incomparable wife. . . And he, Otto himself—— 
whose liking for the worthy man was no less 
genuine than his gratitude — he was condemned 
in some mysterious manner to puzzle himself, half 
involuntarily, over all these misfitted lives, to dis¬ 
cover from the petty and minute details which he 
had been able to observe all that seemed to prove 
a radical incompatibility of minds and characters. 

Added to all this, now came the discrepancy, 
so often and so keenly felt, between the narrow¬ 
ness of his means and the requirements of the 
brilliant circle into which Doctor Lehrbach had 
so abruptly thrust him, as though it were a matter 
of course that a man of education must be rolling 
in gold ! In short, a crude discord jarred unceas- 
ingly on his temperament, and he was more than 


i /6 


THE WILL. 


ever inclined to seek a sort of counterpoise in the 
misanthropic ideas instilled by Roderich Lund. 
As he climbed the stairs of the high dark lodging- 
house he felt a positive yearning towards the 
author of 'Gracchus’; he longed to hear the voice 
which could denounce with sonorous vigor the 
crimes of mankind, unfold the wildest schemes 
with tragic vehemence, and plot conspiracies to 
wreck the very foundations of society. 

He was quite abashed when, on reaching the 
corridor, the poet met him, no longer as a de¬ 
claiming Cataline, but like a young girl who has re¬ 
ceived a missive from her lover. His face beamed 
with blissful excitement and he held the lamp in 
one hand and a sheet of rose-tinted paper in the 
other. 

“ At last,” he exclaimed flourishing the note 
in the air. “ The ice is broken ! My Muse is be¬ 
ginning to feel her wings. God knows how it has 
come about, but so it is. Come, my dear fellow, 
and you shall be the first to enjoy the privilege of 
seeing this precious document — destined to mark 
an epoch in the history of literature.” 

Otto, with an astonished enquiry, went into the 
room and sat down ; Roderich planted himself in 
front of him and held the note close under his 


nose. 


THE WILL. 


1 77 


“ Sweet— is it not ?” he said laughing. “ Ori¬ 
ental oil of roses — sold for its weight in gold ! 
Ha, ha — our epicureans know how to live ! — 
Now, guess from whom it comes.” 

“ How can I guess! From some hitherto silent 
adorer, a Baroness, a Princess . . . .” 

“ Not a bit of it! How little you know the 
female heart. If I had been successful indeed, if 
I were the hero of a 1 run ’ of a hundred nights, 
then I daresay I should have such notes by the 
dozen — but as it is — and I am not such a dash¬ 
ing lady-killer that my personal advantages .... 
No. Quintus Horatius Flaccus has at length found 
a Maecenas — a statement to be taken with a grain 
of salt, of course, for Roderich Lund could never 
be such a mean lickspittle as the classic loafer of 
the Via Sacra — never, not if Maecenas were, the 
descendant of a god instead of a king! But the 
man does not ask it; the whole tone of his letter 
sufficiently proves that.” 

“ I congratulate you; and who is this exalted 
personage ?” 

“ I will not have the man laughed at! People 
with such a genuine love of art and artists are rare 
birds in the fumes of this smoky flue.—There, read 
it; Baron Anastasius von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe is 
the name of the patron who holds out his hand to 


Vol. /. 


13 


i;8 


THE WILL. 


me. It is an old and honored race. As you 
know I care deuced little for a baron’s title — at 
the same time the nobility, with all their absurdi¬ 
ties, are preferable a thousand times over to your 
confounded money-grubbers who only worship 
almighty cash. But read for yourself!” 

Otto had unfolded the rose-scented note. In 
truth — as he could not deny, in spite of the preju¬ 
dice that the recollection of the Baroness Eleonora 
had roused in his mind at the name of Sunthelm- 
Hiddensoe — it contained proposals which left 
nothing to be desired on the score of delicacy. 
Baron Anastasius described himself as having al¬ 
ways been an ardent admirer of Art and Beauty, 
and more particularly of the dramatic muse ; said 
that he had heard that Roderich, notwithstanding 
his remarkable genius, had, till the present moment, 
vainly hoped for recognition ; spoke of the prom¬ 
ising work which was now near completion. He, 
Anastasius von Sunthelm, was directly connected 
with the first theatres of the capital and would 
guarantee that the poet’s work if it was at all 
worthy of the reports he had heard of it, should 
be brought out, this very season, in one of the 
first-class houses. Herr Lund would do him a 
favor by calling on him, the baron, at his earli- ✓ 
est convenience—Heiligenthurmstrasse, number 


THE WILL. 


179 


eighty — and by bringing the tragedy, finished or 
unfinished. 

A few phrases which followed seemed to Otto’s 
more impartial judgment to proceed from the 
same pen that had composed the paean in honor 
of the baron’s benevolent wife; but Roderich, 
blinded by the dazzling prospect of the path now 
opened to him, after so many years of waiting, 
took them quite as a matter of course. When 
Otto had returned him the note he declaimed 
these passages aloud, rushing up and down like a 
possessed creature as he repeated certain expres¬ 
sions, and at length he threw his arms in a wild 
embrace round his fellow-lodger, who by degrees 
had caught a little infection from his companion’s 
ecstatic satisfaction. 

“You see,” Roderich went on, “what a good 
thing it is for a man to go out a little now and 
then. I owe this good-fortune solely to my two 
visits to the Authors’ club. People speak out 
there, discuss their sketches and plans, talk over 
men and things — and it all helps. Till this mo¬ 
ment I always held your poetic rabble cheap, 
altogether superfluous; but I have changed my 
mind about that. By the side of the oak even 
the hazel-nut may find a place. I will become a 
member at once, if it is only to find out who has 


12 * 


i8o 


THE WILL. 


spoken so well of me behind my back to Baron 
Anastasius Maecenas. Your Doctor Wolf I 
should not wonder—or Salomon! Yes, I be¬ 
lieve it must have been Salomon ! Gracchus, you 
see is a subject he would be likely to feel some 
respect for: it sounds advanced — has a whiff of 
‘ tendency ’ about it. I must say I wonder 
greatly how the baron will carry through such a 
play. A fearful revolution on the stage, under 
the eyes of our idiotic gaping middle classes ! — 
It would be a splendid sight in these degenerate 
times — divine — immortal!” 

When the poet had calmed down a little they 
adjourned to their landlady’s sitting-room. Here, 
as usual, the lamp threw a friendly circle of light, 
circumscribed by a gaily-painted shade, on the 
table by the sofa, and by the table sat Emma. 
Her skilful little hands, which, at the end of the 
day when her mother needed no further help in 
the house, made up garlands of flowers or painted 
ribbands, or such fragile finery in the corner room 
at the top of the lodging-house, were this evening 
stitching a pattern in silks into a piece of fine can¬ 
vas. She raised her blushing face with a kindly 
greeting, and that smile which always gave Otto 
a sense of sunshine and May airs. She did not 
rise — they were by this time too intimate for 


THE WILL. 


1 81 


that, and in Frau Lersner’s abode there was little 
ceremony — but her welcome was both polite and 
hearty. The two young men seated themselves 
with an absence of fuss that was surprising after 
the excitement of the last few minutes; but there 
was something in Emma Lersner that made all 
storm and turmoil seem out of place where she was. 

In a minute or two they were joined by Frau 
Lersner; she had been paying a visit to a neigh¬ 
bor, and came in excusing herself for being late 
while she hastened to lay the table. It was soon 
done; the strictest frugality was always the rule 
at the family supper. Prohle, who since Otto had 
joined them had been as punctual as the clock, 
was absent; he had given notice in the morning 
that he should be out, having some work to do 
after hours, and that he intended to be present at 
the great meeting at nine in the hall of Weidner’s 
Brewery. Adele Jakoby, too, had not yet made 
her appearance. 

When Frau Lersner, in speaking of Prohle, 
mentioned the meeting, the poet gave it as his 
opinion that it would not be over before half-past 
ten; he, also, and—he hoped — Otto meant to 
look in, not necessarily to join in any demonstra¬ 
tion, but chiefly to hear Leopold Meynert the 
dauntless orator, who was appearing in public for 


182 


THE WILL. 


the first time in the capital as “ tribune ” of the 
people. 

Otto at once agreed that he would accompany 
Lund.— He longed to hear some one rage and 
scold; for, notwithstanding the transient pleasure 
he had felt in the change in Roderich’s prospects, 
he still had a fractious craving to rebel against the 
“ status quo ” It was heated feeling rather than 
a concurrence of clear notions that guided his 
actions. The mind, like the body, goes through 
that preliminary stage of intoxication in which we 
long to seize something and shake it, to pull up a 
post or lift a door off its hinges in a blind impulse 
of spiteful energy. 

Shortly before nine Otto and Roderich set out; 
they walked fast, for a cold wetting fog hung in 
the streets and alleys. In spite of this, however, 
a densely-packed throng was swaying in front of 
Weidner’s Brewery. They were crowding to the 
entrance, but they were not a noisy or riotous 
mob; their spirits seemed fettered by the antici¬ 
pation of some impending events. 

The audience, who had collected in the great 
hall on the first floor, consisted of very mixed and 
various elements. Working-men predominated ; 
but there were numerous representatives of other 
classes: shopkeepers, men of science, artists, stu- 


THE WILL. 


183 

dents, journalists, and lawyers stood in large 
groups among the advocates of Social democracy. 
Otto and Roderich slowly pushed their way till 
they were close to the platform. 

“ ’Morning, ’morning,” they suddenly heard 
close behind them : Professor Salomon, who never 
said anything else, whatever time of the day it 
might be. “ ’Morning, Herr Lund ! I am glad to 
see that your interest in the great questions of the 
day is growing, Herr Wellner. I really was afraid 
that the ‘ Glocke ’ had tolled the funeral knell of 
all your political energies. However — all honor 
to truth : ‘ The Bride of Catania ’ is here — the 
author I should say; only because he has some 
stirring popular scene in hand perhaps, and likes 
to work from the life . . . these gentlemen of the 
pen make a sort of literary extract of the whole 
world. Aye, aye, Herr Lund, you are one of the 
holy brotherhood, I know; well, I can only hope 
that you, at any rate, are in earnest in the cause 
of social development! Have you never heard 
Meynert before ?” 

“ Never.” 

“ Wonderfully clever ! It is a pity — Liber¬ 
alism could make good use of such men !” 

“And tries to suppress them instead!” ob¬ 
served Roderich. 


THE WILL. 


184 

Salomon shrugged his shoulders. “That is a 
matter of taste,” he said. “I respect every form 
of political conviction, even the most imbecile — 
I beg pardon, the word is not strictly parlia¬ 
mentary. But I consider it to be — logically in¬ 
congruous, shall I say — to spring a mine under 
the house with a view to improving your domestic 
relations. You see, my respected friend, these so¬ 
cialists make a great point of the originality of 
their claims, and the brilliant radicalism of their 
revolutionary schemes. Good Heavens ! Only 
let them read Plato’s ‘ Republic,’ or the Ecclesi- 
azusae of Aristophanes — they will find all their 
modern sapiency there, chapter and verse. Plato 
never really wished to see such a Republic, you 
will say.— Granted, but what of that ? The 
State, to Plato, was equivalent to our modern 
idea of the People, not to the preposterous ex- 
cresence which we call the State . . . Besides, just 
consider the infinite dissimilarity in the conditions. 
Well, enough of that! This is hardly the place for 
giving an extempore lecture on such a vast sub¬ 
ject. You shall hear what I have to say in the 
right place when the time comes. I am a de¬ 
clared friend of the people; but on that very ac¬ 
count I distrust this mania, this conglomeration 
of inextricable brain-spinnings . . . 


THE WILL. 


i8 5 


“ You are quite at liberty to do so/' replied 
Roderich coldly. “But you will perhaps allow .. 

The President’s bell, the signal for opening 
the meeting, interrupted his speech. The Editor 
of the * Encyclopedia ’ nodded knowingly at the 
poet of the Gracchi, as much as to say: “ Well, 
you will see”—then he withdrew a little way 
and was lost among a number of others. 

On the order of the day Meynert’s name was 
set down for an address on the comprehensive 
theme : “ The State of the Future.” After his 
speech there was to be a discussion and the 
“ People’s committee ” had invited the oratorical 
talent of all parties alike to enter the lists and 
take part in the struggle. 

Leopold Meynert, the locksmith of Ober- 
horchheim, mounted the platform. Otto was not 
a little astonished to see in the disaffected agi¬ 
tator— whom he had pictured to himself as 
clumsy and loutish, with a certain affectation of 
boorishness — a dapper personage, whose well- 
bred air would have done no discredit to any 
drawing-room. Meynert had an intelligent face 
with clean-cut features and an expression at times 
of genial frankness. The only doubtful detail was 
his deep-set eye which betrayed gross sensuality 
and a vein of ruthless and overbearing selfishness. 


r —*■ 


1 86 ' THE WILL. 

The Roman Emperor might have had such eyes, 
and such a look in them, as he sat fiddling while 
Rome was in flames. Otto Wellner was too far 
from the orator to read the secret that lurked be¬ 
hind those lashes; besides, he was too much ex¬ 
cited to be a calm observer. 

Meynert was received by his adherents with 
vociferous acclamations. The advocates of order 
were biding their time; only a few protested by 
whistling and hisses. The speaker then sketched 
in a few words the outlines of his subject and at¬ 
tacked it at once with much vigor. 

The hearer who was prepared to grant the 
man’s premises could not deny that his inferences 
were logical enough. He took those premises 
for granted as indisputable facts, ignoring that 
they needed proof; in this lay the principal craft 
of his rhetoric. He knew how to spin his yarn so 
deftly, and the thread gleamed with such splendor 
of color, that not merely his fellow-believers in 
social democracy, but even a considerable portion 
of the undecided and doubting party were en¬ 
snared and carried away by the charm of his il¬ 
lusory arguments. Otto particularly, to whom 
the subject was altogether new, whose knowledge 
of political economy was of the lowest average 
and who was far too much impressed by the 


THE WILL. 


18; 


glamour of the artistic effect to be capable of test¬ 
ing the logic — Otto believed that this wily-ton- 
gued trickster spoke with the voice of a prophet 
calling to the people to awake from sleep, of a 
Moses exhorting the enslaved multitude to escape 
from the bondage of Pharaoh. Beguiled by this 
notion, it never occurred to him to remember that 
all the state of things which Meynert denounced 
as “ intolerable ” he had till this very hour sub¬ 
mitted to as a matter of daily life. The State — 
so said Otto to himself — that merciless Bel¬ 
shazzar, must be made to do penance and strew 
its head with ashes; Leopold Meynert’s hand had 
traced the flaming Mene Tekel Upharsin on the 
wall of its gorgeous palace ! 

When the speaker ceased there was a perfect 
thunder of applause; the revolutionary faction 
indulged in an orgy of shouts and bravos. Otto 
stood like one bewitched; a new world seemed 
opened out to him — a world in which he could 
work, fight, and win. He was completely befooled; 
his heart throbbed wildly, the blood mounted to 
the veins in his temples ; he could not stay any 
longer in the hot, crowded hall. Heedless of the 
uncomplimentary remarks of the people he dis¬ 
turbed, he pushed his way through the closely- 
packed mob out into the air. 


188 


THE WILL. 


The impression made on him by Meynert’s 
eloquence might perhaps have been qualified if he 
could have heard the remarks which Doctor Sal¬ 
omon now proceeded to fling at the meeting in 
his thundering bass-tones — with small effect, to 
be sure. Strong in his convictions, though not very 
rich in original ideas, the worthy man was a per¬ 
fect treasury of everything that had ever been said 
or written to confute Utopian dreamers of political 
and social regeneration. He had beyond a doubt 
a certain gift of eloquence, more fitted, however, 
to work on the academic mind than on that of the 
masses. To-day he was quite in the vein: he 
pointed out the falsity of the foundations on which 
his adversary had built up his ideal structure — 
keenly, clearly, unbiassed by any tricks of fancy; 
he pulled Meynert’s picture of society to pieces 
bit by bit, and ended with the effective appeal: 
“We are unprejudiced men, Liberals in the truest 
sense — and for that very reason we will resist 
the despotism of the masses. We insist on abso¬ 
lute freedom for all — and for that very reason 
we abjure social democracy.” 

In the opinion of every unprejudiced person — 
if in such matters any one is unprejudiced — 
Salomon had triumphed over his cleverer adver¬ 
sary. But the majority who, till now, had been 


THE WILL. 


189 


kept in order by the determination of the Presi¬ 
dent and by Meynert’s personal intervention, broke 
out like a tornado. They shouted, yelled and 
roared ; a few of the most furious became person¬ 
ally abusive. “ Down with the idiot!” “ He is 

paid by the rich snobs.” “Knock him down, 
kick him out!” with other amenities of speech 
were howled and shrieked by the infuriated audi¬ 
ence. The police cleared the hall. 

“ A pack of simpletons !” growled Salomon as 
he made his way with Wolf through the dimly- 
lighted streets. “ But, as I always said, the mob 
can never see what’s what. Without philosophy 
how can they be humanized !” 

“ And yet you want to place this unmannerly 
rabble at the helm !” 

“ Who says so ?” 

“Your party-programme.” 

“ Pooh ! That is the subjective construction 
you choose to put upon it ! I want freedom — 
but a philosophical and cultured freedom ! Well, 
enough of that! I am glad things have gone off as 
they have, the lubberly idiots! Good-night, my 
good friend.” 

He shook hands with Wolf and turned down 
a side street where he mounted the stone steps of 


190 


THE WILL. 


a tavern, for he had a strong academical-politico- 
philosophical thirst upon him. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Otto Wellner had got out into the street 
in an indescribable state of excitement. All the 
ideas and feelings that had been racking and tor¬ 
menting him for the last few days, all his discon¬ 
tent and cravings seemed to have been reduced to 
a formula in Meynert’s fanatical eloquence; and 
in the turmoil of his fermenting brain he held it 
for certain that this formula, once applied, would 
suffice to solve the hard problem known as the 
social question. His fancy wandered, with the 
facile creativeness of an artistic temperament, into 
rose-colored dreams, lending an aspect of proba¬ 
bility to the orator’s wildest theories down to their 
utmost details, and painting an El Dorado, of 
which the only fault was that it was based on the 
gaudy clouds of sunset in the infinite blue of the 
sky, instead of the solid earth and rocky platform 
from which real mountains tower. 

Otto was roused from his dreams by hearing 


THE WILL. 


191 

his name spoken. Prohle stood before him, evi¬ 
dently much agitated. 

“A lucky chance!” said the type-founder, 
and his strong voice was husky and low. “ I was 
going to look for you ; I should have woke you if 
you had been in bed. You see, Herr Wellner, I 
can trust you — more than Roderich Lund, 
though he is one of our party. But I must tell 
you — hard as it is— or my heart will burst!” 

Otto looked at him with astonishment. Some 
frightful excitement, partly pain and partly rage, 
twitched his lips under the thick moustache ; his 
nostrils were distended and his eyes glared in the 
light of the gas-lamp like those of a panther. In 
spite of this half-frenzied expression there was 
something in the drooping attitude of his giant’s 
frame that suggested a pathetic helplessness; the 
man looked broken and completely unhinged. 
Otto glanced round him ; intoxicated, possessed, 
by his imaginings, he had walked on without 
thinking or caring whither. Now he wondered 
where he was; the spot where Prohle had met 
him was recognizable by a handsome fountain on 
one side of the street — they were a long way 
from home, almost at the opposite suburb of the 
city and not more than a thousand paces perhaps 
from Doctor Lehrbach’s residence. 


192 


THE WILL. 


“What brought you here?” asked Otto puz¬ 
zled. “ Were you not at the meeting at Weidner’s 
Brewery ?” 

“I had something better — or worse — to at¬ 
tend to. Worse indeed — for I have behaved 
like an idiot. And yet—I had no choice; no, 
God knows I had no choice!” 

There was an eating-house at the next corner. 
It was late, and in this part of the town there were 
few people in the streets; however, Otto judged 
it wiser to hear the confession or the secret Prohle 
had to confide to him between four walls, for the 
type-founder had almost raved out the last words, 
clenching his fists, and was hardly able to contain 
himself from some more frantic demonstration. 

So they went in. In the outer room a few 
youngsters — shop-men from the suburbs—were 
standing round a shabby billiard-table while a 
faded, coarsely-painted barmaid had posted her¬ 
self behind a side table and was carrying on a 
confidential flirtation with one of the players. 

The inner room was empty, and here Otto 
and Prohle sat down. When the barmaid had 
brought them some far from sparkling beer and— 
finding that her vulgar fascinations were wasted— 
had retired again, Prohle clutched Otto’s arm and 
began : 


THE WILL. 


193 


✓ 


“ Have you noticed nothing, Herr Wellner ? 
Nothing I mean between me and Fraulein Adele 
Jakoby ?” 

“ Well,” said Otto, “ I have always thought 
you admired her.” 

“And so I do,” said Prohle warmly, “and I 
know, of course, that I have no turn for acting a 
part. When I feel anything it is written on my 
face at once and any child can read it. So it is 
hardly a confession when I tell you now. Yes, 
Herr Wellner, I love the girl — I love her more 
than anything else in the wide world and I can 
think of nothing else.” 

There was something very touching in the 
subdued tones of his great growling voice. All 
its roughness seemed to have been melted out of 
it as though nothing but the mere mention of that 
beloved name was enough to quell the sturdy 
nature of the man and to make him as gentle and 
docile as a child. 

“ Herr Wellner,” he went on presently, and 
his hand trembled as he set down his half-emptied 
glass, “tell me—quite honestly, what is your 
opinion of Fraulein Jakoby ?” 

“ In what way ?” asked Wellner. 

“ Well, what I mean is — do you think I have 

Vol. /. 


*3 


194 


THE WILL. 


any prospects . . . ? Or is she too much above 
me — does she look higher?” 

Otto shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I know her so little. From what I have 
seen I should say she likes you very well.” 

“Yes, yes ; she is civil and kind; she puts up 
with me when I plague her with my odds and 
ends of chatter . . . But still, I feel ...” 

He broke off. 

“ Hang it all!” he exclaimed. “What is the 
use of beating about the bush. I made up my 
mind to tell you and I will, though every word 
may burn my soul like hell-fire.— You see, Herr 
Wellner, I am alone in the world. I have no re¬ 
lations — and no friends, for I am a dry sort of 
stick; I do not get on with every one and few 
take to me. But you now — I may tell you 
plainly — I liked you from the first. Your 
straightforward kind face, your eyes — I do not 
know what it is—but I feel sure, quite sure... In 
short you must let me tell you.” 

“ Speak on.” 

“Well then, Fraulein Jakoby . . . Her aunt’s 
room, I am afraid, is growing too small for her. 
She thinks too much of herself ever to become 
the wife of a plain workman — and a cub of a fel¬ 
low into the bargain; she is so volatile, aye, and 


THE WILL. 


195 


pleasure-seeking. Do you remember — some 
time ago, the first evening you ever came to Frau 
Lersner’s ? Fraulein Adele went out directly 
after supper — to the shop, she said, but that was 
only an excuse.” 

“ So I thought.” 

“ Did you ? Did you see through her so 
soon ? And I — well I am a dolt! For months 
I had been feeling about in the dark till that 
cursed night — then I found her out.—It is dread¬ 
ful, dreadful!” 

“You take it too hard, my dear fellow. Here 
is a young lively creature, just seventeen. — Good 
heavens ! Why she may have been to call on a 
respectable friend or perhaps to a concert — or, 
put it at the worst, to some dancing-room . . . .” 

“ Dancing ! Alone ! No ! come now ! That 
-would be all very well for one of our folders or 
compositors, but not for Fraulein Adele. Just 
consider; the niece of such a very respectable 
woman, and a saleswoman to Toussaint and 
Gerold . . . .” 

“ Pooh, nonsense; is a compositor made of 
worse stuff than a shop-girl ?” 

“You are right enough,” said Prohle, “I did 
not mean that exactly . . . .You will pardon me — 
but a girl who is so remarkably pretty as Frau- 


196 


THE WILL. 


lein Adele — there must be temptations — on all 
sides . . He hastily tossed off the last of his 
beer and then sat resting his head on his hand. 

“To-night now,” he began again in an altered 
voice, “ do you know where she has been to¬ 
night ? I have followed her like a dog—she left 
the shop as the clock struck seven. She had told 
them at home the same old story, that she would 
be kept there till ten or eleven. Well she comes 
out of the shop in her little fur-trimmed cape, as 
sweet as an angel — Lord ! I could have run up 
to her then and there, and knelt on the ground 
before her, and begged her to forgive me for 
watching and spying — for, after all, what busi¬ 
ness or right is it of mine ? She is free to do as 
she pleases. Well, I stood in the gateway close 
by. She turned off to the right, down the second 
turning and I after her, stooping a little with my 
hat over my face, and in a constant fright lest she 
should look round. Five or six streets further 
on, in a place where all the shops were shut, I 
saw a dark figure walking up and down, and be¬ 
fore I knew where I was, she had taken the fel¬ 
low’s arm and they were at the next corner, by 
the Gorlitz Square where the hackney-droskies 
stand — my heart beat so I thought it would 
burst; I could have shrieked out to her, but I 


V 


THE WILL. 197 

felt as if I was choking.—In they got, and the 
drosky set off across the square. I was in de¬ 
spair, but away I went after them, all down the 
Theresienstrasse and out towards the suburbs. 
The rascally driver went like the very devil, of 
course; as a rule you cannot get the wretched 
jades beyond a crawl, but now it seemed as if they 
had laid a wager to split my lungs. At last, in 
about five and twenty minutes, when I was on the 
point of dropping, they stopped at the door of 
the Northern Theatre. The performance had 
begun and the street was clear. Run as I would 
I was only just in time to see them disappear up¬ 
stairs to the boxes. He was a middle-sized man, 
in a brown overcoat and pale yellow gloves. He 
had his back to me so I could not see whether he 
was young or old, but to judge from his walk he 
was none of the youngest. She of course took 
his arm, and no one could tell but what she was 
his wife, she was so natural and took it all so 
easily.— I, like a fool, was rushing up after them, 
but a man stood in my way and asked for my 
ticket.— That brought me to my senses. As 
usual I had no money about me, or at least not 
enough; and after all, I said to myself: What 
are you thinking of — what can you do ? You 
cannot make a row in a public theatre; the 




198 


THE WILL. 


swindling rascal—d-n him! — who had got 

round her will only laugh in your face and call 
the police.— So I turned on my heel to think it 
over; on the wall by the door hung the play-bill; 
I stopped to look — ‘over at nine.’ Very good, 
said I, you wait.— It was of no use to go all the 
way home ; so, half dizzy with running, I lounged 
about and counted the minutes; never in my life 
did an hour and a half seem so long. At last, 
just about nine, there was a stir inside the place. 
I watched the stairs like a lynx, and all the people 
who came down from the boxes. There were 
only a few — and Fraulein Jakoby and the man 
in the brown coat were not there ! So they must 
have left before the play was over. But where 
had they gone ? I can tell you I turned hot and 
cold, and for nothing at all I could have kicked 
one of the men who came pushing against me 
right down the steps.” 

“Well, but what next?” asked Wellner, much 
interested. 

“ What next ? — What next is exactly what I 
want you to tell me. Shall I tell her out to her 
face all I know, and ask her, or get it out of her 
somehow, who the villain is — and then crack his 
skull for him ? Or shall I tell her aunt to-mor¬ 
row and take myself off afterwards — and the 



THE WILL. 


199 


sooner the better? Folly ! — as if I could leave 
her even if I would. That is just the very devil 
of it! If you were to tell me this minute that she 
was — God knows what, that she had flung her¬ 
self in the dirt for that miserable hound — badly 
as it would hurt me, I know I should love her 
still, just the same.” And he thrust his fists into 
his eyes. 

“ And to know,” he went on to himself, clench¬ 
ing his teeth, “ that you must put up with it all 
simply because you are poor, because you have 
nothing to offer her, because you cannot give her 
a home where she can swagger round, or buy her 
lace shawls and gold bracelets! A woman’s 
heart is always set on such miserable rubbish — 
for my part I should be content to live in a 
garret and wear my blouse Sundays and work¬ 
days if only I could see her dear little face and 
hear her voice. But Lord ! a girl’s heart is made 
of different stuff; it is like a butterfly that must 
flitter about in the sun.— Aye, the sun, there’s the 
rub ; gold, sacred gold — cursed filthy gold, is the 
only sun that shines and warms in this sordid,- 
miserable world ! . . . 

“ Give me your advice, Herr Wellner, and I 
will act upon it. Yes, I will do just as you bid 
me, even if you say: ‘Take yourself off, Prohle; 


200 


THE WILL. 


there is no hope for you here.’ But say some¬ 
thing, advise me somehow, or I shall go mad !” 

“ My dear fellow,” said Otto much disturbed, 
“what advice can I give you ? You can only try 
to find out how matters really stand. Under the 
circumstances — who can tell . . .” 

“Yes, you are right,” said Prohle. “It does 
not do to go too fast. Perhaps — certainly as I 
think it over — she has no relatives here I know, 
and if Herr Toussaint — they do say.— But no, 
that will not hold water; a shop-girl arm in arm 
with the head of the house. Besides, it was not 
Toussaint; he is taller and younger—I tell you 
what, Herr Wellner, if I had that scoundrel here, 
guilty or not guilty — and he is guilty, for it is a 
rascally thing to get hold of a girl beneath him in 
rank and that he can only want to make a fool of 
— I tell you — do you see me smash this glass 
into a thousand atoms ...” 

Crazed with rage, he took up his glass and 
flung it on the floor with such violence that the 
fragments flew up and hit the ceiling. 

“ Don’t be angry,” he stammered, as Otto 
gazed at him in astonishment. “ It was too many 
for me. I am too miserable — too miserable !” 

The big man leaned bodily over the table, 
hiding his face on his arm, and the convulsive 


THE WILL. 


201 


jerking - of his broad shoulders showed that he was 
sobbing noiselessly. 

“ Herr Prohle,” said Otto, waving away the 
barmaid who, hearing the smash, had come to 
the door, “ Herr Prohle, will you really act on 
the best advice that I can see my way to giving 
you ?” 

“Well?” said Prohle, slowly raising his red¬ 
dened face. 

“ Speak to Fraulein Adele herself, quite quietly 
and without the slightest trace of anger or jealousy. 
The girl seems to have no suspicions of your feel¬ 
ing towards her. Tell her your whole heart, ex¬ 
plain your honest intentions, and ask her if you 
may have any hope. The prospect of marrying a 
good, faithful, honest man often has a wonderful 
effect on such butterflies, as you put it. Fraulein 
Adele is still so young, and to her the world is so 
fresh and bright that, in spite of all you have told 
me, I cannot imagine ... In any case it will be 
the shortest way of learning the worst. If she 
refuses you — then of course you must leave — 
at once ...” 

“ Leave !” interrupted the type-founder. 
“Very good. But first . . .” 

And he raised his fist with a threatening 
glare. 


202 


THE WILL. 


“ Control yourself!” said Otto. “Nothing is 
to be gained by force in such matters.” 

“ I dare say,” cried Prohle, whose wrath had 
boiled up again; “ that is what they always tell 
us when they promise us mountains of gold and 
end by giving us nothing! It is shameful, dis¬ 
graceful, sickening ! Do not misunderstand me, 
Herr Wellner, for God’s sake; I have nothing to 
say against you. I only mean that everlasting 
cheating, lying, promising-—and we, like idiots, 
believe and wait ! This evening, for instance, 
Meynert, I make no doubt, crammed the poor 
souls with God knows what romantic palaver and 
smeared their silly mouths with milk and honey 
— and then the word is : ‘ Now for Legislation ; 
give us a free ballot ! Vote ! Vote !’ Pooh ! I 
say to such silly chatter !— As if all that were 
even worth a trial ! Let me have my way and 
you shall see ! I would put an end to all the 
pother in no time ; I would get a few thousand 
fellows together — fellows like myself — and then 
I would declare with a loud voice : ‘ You have 
had your turn and your time is out,’ and I would 
make short work of .any who objected !” 

The trouble that had befallen him had driven 
him back into his Total-annihilation mood, and 
when he was under the influence of that particular 


THE WILL. 


203 


madness he would thunder out these monstrous 
views in a tone which, in spite of the childish sim¬ 
plicity of his logic, sounded like the growl of an 
approaching storm. He had indeed spoken so 
loud that the young party in the next room had 
overheard him, and two of them — one being a 
tall bony lad whom the barmaid addressed as 
Herr Arthur, known to us as Peltzer’s neighbor 
at supper, at the “ Golden Anchor ” at Gernsheim 
— came to the door and looked in. 

“ I know that one,” whispered Arthur, point¬ 
ing out Otto. 

“ Do you ? How and where ?” 

“ I will tell you by and bye. Hold your tongue 
and listen. He seems to be in a pleasant temper !” 

In point of fact the power of brute-force which 
inspired Profile's violent speech and was ex¬ 
pressed in his tone and gestures, affected Otto 
much as Meynert’s declamatory rhetoric had 
done an hour ago. The wild visions which had 
befooled his better sense during his lonely wan¬ 
dering through the streets were resuscitated in his 
deluded soul; a sort of pythonic enthusiasm came 
over him. 

“ My friend !” he exclaimed holding out his 
hand with dramatic emphasis, “ the ideas you ex¬ 
press with such crude originality, are perhaps the 


204 


THE WILL. 


whole secret of our century! Redemption will 
be worked out, to be sure, by other means than 
you imagine ; but I — Otto Wellner — I tell you 
it must come, and it will come, or there is no God 
in Heaven. I, as I stand here, will be the first, in 
spite of every peril — nay, if necessary, by a deed 
of valor and violence and at the risk of my life — 
I will be the first, I say, to bear witness to the 
rights of the People ! Now, come away !” 

For a few minutes longer the couple sat dream¬ 
ing ; then they paid their reckoning and silently 
left the place. 

“A pretty pair of hot-heads!” said one of the 
commercial gentlemen, as the door closed behind 
them. “Their speechifying has a strong smack 
of Meynert. I suppose they are specimens too 
of your vagabond orators who travel about at 
other folks’ expense and stir up the working-men 
to be idle.” 

“ I know that Wellner of old,” cried Arthur. 
“ A regular rowdy ! At Gernsheim, one day, he 
was ready to fight every one at the dinner-table 
— and came very near doing it too.” 

“Wellner—Wellner ?” said the former speaker. 
“ I read pretty nearly everything that comes out 
about this Socialist craze, but I do not remember 
meeting with the name.” 


THE WILL. 


205 


“ But you are quite right,” Arthur went on. 
“ With his head in the air and his arm stretched 
out, bellowing and shouting, he looked for all the 
world like Meynert. I heard Meynert the other 
day, in Gernsheim — but I soon had had enough 
of it.— It is too idiotic ! ‘ By a deed of valor and 

violence, and at the risk of my life . . .! Bear wit¬ 
ness to the rights of the people ...!’ Freedom — 
Progress . . .! It is maddening to hear such mouth¬ 
fuls of big words. Well, of course each one copies 
the rest.” 

“ Much you know about it!” cried a fat fair 
girl, with hands as red as lobsters, “ wait a bit 
and do not go too fast. For aught you know the 
man you are so hard upon may be the very one 
to start all Europe on the right road. Look on 
at the game a little longer or you may lose your 
stake — when all is said and done !” 

Arthur handed his empty glass to the bar¬ 
maid and chalked the point of his billiard-cue 
with an air which might convey : “ I too — even 
I — though for the present I sell Dutch cheese 
and mal-odorous herrings in a side street, am one 
of the elect, destined to ride down the Louisen- 
strasse in a gilt coach, when once the apostles of 
freedom have got control over the capital which 
now is our tyrant and oppressor . . . Don’t you 


206 


THE WILL. 


think so Elvira ?” and he expressed this appeal to 
the sympathies of the faded Kellnerin, who at this 
moment set his glass, refilled, on the side table, 
by nipping her fat and painted cheek so that it 
looked like a sausage rolled in flour. 

“There — have a drink first, my rosebud!” 
he said with a smile. “ To the good time that’s 
coming ! Take my word for it, Elvira my dear, 
in the course of time changes will come — and 
then . . . .” 

He sank his voice mysteriously. To the bar¬ 
maid it had a sound as of a Sunday drunken row, 
as he added : 

“ Then — my master may cry for mercy !” 

He grinned again and then, with a practised 
hand, sent the ivory balls rolling across the dingy 
billiard table. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

On the following day Otto left his office be¬ 
fore six. The invitation to be present at the be¬ 
trothal of Camilla von Diiren to Erich von Tyl- 
lichau-Sassnitz fixed it at eight, but Otto was in 
a state of excitement like that of a young girl 


THE WILL. 


207 


going to her first ball ; he had still a few pur¬ 
chases to make, and he was in the mood to take 
all these preparations very seriously; all the more 
so as he had to calculate his resources very 
closely: his modest salary was not due till the 
end of the month, and the gorgeous neck-tie, the 
fine shirt and well-fitting gloves which he had 
been obliged to buy before he could even call on 
Doctor Lehrbach had been costly acquisitions. 

On quitting the office he made his way to the 
Louisenstrasse where the best shops are to be 
found, and at one of the most fashionable glovers 
he invested in two pairs of white glace-kid gloves, 
bestowing them in the breast-pocket of his coat 
with as much care as a mother putting her child 
to bed. But then, as he went on through the 
busy street, the question forced itself upon him 
whether this passionate craving for a nearer ac¬ 
quaintance with the world of wealth and the 
luxury of the capital were not the symptom of a 
falling away from those principles which he had 
proclaimed, last evening, to be his most sacred 
convictions. His spirit was at war with itself and 
it was in vain that he tried to harmonize it; at 
length he pacified himself with the idea that he 
owed the possessors of all this splendor a deep 
grudge for their enjoyment and ease, thus raising 


208 


THE WILL. 


the envy, of which till now he had been conscious 
only as an instinct, to the rank of a political vir¬ 
tue. It must be confessed that the poison infused 
into his soul by the great social quack Meynert, 
had worked to admirable effect. 

Five minutes later Otto entered the shop of 
Messrs. Toussaint and Gerold; as chance would 
have it, it was Adele Jakoby who came forward 
to serve him. She asked him what he needed 
with delightfully saucy deference and brought 
him out a quantity to choose from. 

There was a lull for the moment in the press 
of business. Otto, remembering his stormy in¬ 
terview with the enamored type-founder, thought 
this an opportunity for a few leading hints and 
questions. 

“You were at the play last night?” he said 
coolly. 

The girl turned pale ; it was too unexpected 
a thrust not to tell. She was a little shy of Otto, 
too ; perhaps because she had noted how greatly 
he was attracted by Emma’s refined homeliness. 
If Otto really knew — ! He would tell Emma, 
and if Emma were to know Adele would die of 
shame ! For any one else she cared not a straw; 
even her aunt did not command her particular 
respect; but Emma! No, that she could not 


209 


THE WILL 

\ 

bear ! Emma must never know that her cousin 
had been seen in a box with Herr von Sunthelm, 
and had afterwards eaten oysters and drank 
champagne at the Hotel du Rhin. She was 
very innocent really, this little Adele. It had all 
happened — she did not know how or why — 
quite naturally; and nothing worse had come of 
it — absolutely nothing. — That Sunday, when 
the baron had given her sherry, it was quite a 
different matter ; he had taken her hand.— But 
now, she had put an end to that at once ! He had 
sat there like a lamb, like a school-boy at a ser¬ 
mon ; he had only treated her — a truffled par¬ 
tridge after the oysters. . . . 

All this flashed like lightning through her 
shrewd bright little brain. 

“ I ?” she said stooping to open a gold-edged 
handkerchief box. 

“ Yes, you,” said Otto. “ Prohle saw you.” 

“ He must have made a mistake,” she said re¬ 
covering herself with a laugh. “ Which will you 
have ? This is the newest and most fashionable 
thing. Herr von Tyllichau — the bridegroom — 
bought a dozen and a half only yesterday.” She 
held up a fine striped pocket-handkerchief such as 
was then the height of fashion. 

“ Really ?” said Otto somewhat dashed by 


v»i. 1. 


14 


210 


THE WILL. 


Adele’s cool denial. “ And does Herr von Tyl- 
lichau do his own shopping?” 

The girl’s bright eyes twinkled with audacious 
mischief. 

“ That depends,” she said with an air of re¬ 
serve. “ He comes in here now and then. Well, 
have you made up your mind ? We are as busy 
to-day as a hive of bees,” and she pointed to the 
doorway where a number of people were again 
crowding in. 

“ Very good,” she said as Otto hastily put 
one aside, “ I will wrap it in paper.— Scent it 
nicely and let just one corner of it peep out of 
your breast-pocket; then you will make no end of 
conquests. Pay there, please.” 

She scrawled a few lines on a bill and handed 
it to him ; Otto went to the counting-desk — and 
ascertained beyond a doubt that Herr von Tyl- 
lichau-Sassnitz had a very expensive taste. 

“ It is shameful !” he muttered, as he went 
away. “ All this contemptible deference for a 
handful of metal pieces.” 

Dwelling on the idea of this thraldom he 
went on his way through the swarms of people ; 
then he remembered that Dr. Lehrbach had told 
him not long since that whist was a favorite game 
in the Von Diirens’ house, and he tried to picture 


THE WILL. 


21 I 


to himself how he should feel if a trio of truculent 
officers tried to induce him to make a fourth. It 
would be a pleasant thing, by Heaven ! to lose 
two or three hundred marks with a sweetly polite 
smile, and then be obliged to stammer out the 
awkward fact that “ he had no money with him !” 
He could only hope that it was allowable to de¬ 
cline. — There was to be a ball after supper ; a 
ball! For the first time in his life he imagined 
the charm of floating round over the polished 
floor of a brilliantly-lighted room to the senti¬ 
mental strains of a waltz, with a living blossom in 
one’s arms, a mysterious enchanting being, for 
whom the gleam of white shoulders, the flash of 
bright eyes and the sparkle of diamonds were the 
only fitting setting ! But he knew that — of 
course — these joys were not for him. It would 
be his fate to play cards — he would have to 
stand confessed a working-man, a pauper.— In 
his fancy he saw the cards in hostile array — a 
foe coming down on his miserable purse, to 
threaten him, plunder him and force him to the 
humiliating acknowledgment: “ I have nothing.” 

He reached home very much out of spirits. 
In the type-founder’s room he heard the sighing 
of a concertina. If the instrument in any way in¬ 
terpreted the player’s mood, the storm of yester- 

u * 




212 


THE WILL. 


day was over; there was no immediate prospect of 
Prohle’s provoking the cruel queen of his heart 
by a decisive question. “ Ah ! can it ever be, 
that I must part from thee ”* — groaned the mel¬ 
ancholy little machine — it might have been a 
country damsel sobbing for her faithless lover. 

Otto felt for his match-box and lighted the 
lamp ; as the gleam fell on the low small room it 
struck the young man’s fancy that it was like a 
light in a prison-cell. 

His eye was caught by the bed in the corner 
on which, carefully spread out, lay his black 
clothes, his clean and shining shirt — collar, cuffs, 
gibus hat — and a white tie wrapped in pink 
tissue paper. 

The sight of these things moved Otto to a 
frame of mind which to the Baron von Tyllichau- 
Sassnitz would have seemed equally incompre¬ 
hensible and ridiculous. There was, to be sure, 
something grotesquely melodramatic in the situ¬ 
ation. Otto Wellner, who only yesterday had 
weighed the future of Society in the balance of his 
wrath and found it wanting — was standing here, 
gazing with real emotion at an array of ordinary 
evening dress ! Any one looking below the sur- 

* “ Ach wie ist's moglich dann, dass ich dich lassen kann,”— 
A well-known popular German air. 



THE WILL. 


213 


face might, however, have detected the source of 
this singular mood. In the first place dead mem¬ 
ories rose before the young man’s mind : the im¬ 
age of his early home — a simple and humble 
home, sweetened by an atmosphere of loving 
care : the joys of his childhood, modest and un¬ 
worldly, but beyond words — the kind eyes of his 
long-lost mother, who had so often in her day 
lent a grace to such prosaic objects as these — 
prosaic to thoughtless souls, but full of poetry 
and pathos to the initiated: his father’s face, too 
— a grave, thoughtful man — that honored father 
whose mysterious will, treasured as a sacred relic, 
lay there in a drawer of the old wardrobe. And 
with these memories came another feeling : the 
comfortable sense of not being absolutely lonely 
in the chaotic turmoil of the great city, of having 
some one near him who took an interest in his 
hopes and pleasures — for this little care in put¬ 
ting out his things plainly revealed such kindness. 

Presently Frau Lersner knocked at the door 
to ask whether he needed anything more. Otto 
pointing to the bed, said no — that she was a model 
landlady. Then she laughed and said he was 
thanking the wrong person — it was Emma who 
had thought that such a learned man would want 
some one to look after him a little. 


214 


THE WILL. 


Otto dressed quickly and by half-past seven 
went into the sitting-room with his overcoat on 
his arm. The worthy mother twitched and 
patted his collar, and helped him into his 
paletot; then, bidding her good-night, he went 
his way on foot. 

In the Von Diirens’ ante-room he met Doctor 
Lehrbach. The lawyer scanned him from head 
to foot with the air of a connoisseur and nodded 
approval: “Good!” he said, “very good. You 
are quite capable of running a tilt with our golden 
youth and holding your own, too. I mean as re¬ 
gards externals. So far as your talents are con¬ 
cerned— cela va sans dire. — Nay, you need not 
blush as if I had paid you an empty compliment. 
Do you know what is your greatest defect? You 
are too modest. Any one who wants to get to 
the front must do all he can to make the best of 
himself. Stand forth and assert yourself as a 
young god, and the world will fall at your feet. 
However, I like you better with your maiden shy¬ 
ness than all the patrician youth with their im¬ 
maculate clothes and their empty skulls. Stop— 
wait a minute : your tie is not quite correct — in 
a work of art every line has its value.” He put 
up his fat little hands, in their unwrinkled kid 
gloves, and gave a knowing twitch to the ends of 


THE WILL. 


215 


Otto’s tie; then he tucked his crush hat under 
one arm and drew Otto’s hand through the 
other, much as a country father might lead his 
bashful son to go courting a neighbor’s daughter. 

“ Come with me,” he said. “ I must go across 
to the ladies’ room to wait for my wife.” 

They went along the corridor which was 
already full of guests. Young women and girls 
in elegant full-dress came trooping out through 
the curtained doorway of the room where they 
had left their cloaks and hoods, and were met by 
husbands, fathers, and brothers, with that air of 
grave expectancy which is commonly assumed 
before entering a room full of company. They 
waited quite five minutes before Lucinda ap¬ 
peared ; Otto bowed low to cover the agitation 
which he could never help feeling at the sight of 
this beautiful young creature. Lucinda this 
evening — as the first time he had seen her under 
the beeches at Oberhorchheim — was in white, 
only not in a simple morning gown, but in a 
splendid and costly dress. Her rounded shoul¬ 
ders and arms showed against the creamy silk like 
faintly-tinted flowers in an alabaster vase; there 
was something statuesque and classic in her aspect 
and yet she was a living, enchanting reality. In 
her hair she had a chaplet of diamonds, so ar- 


216 


THE WILL. 


ranged as to hide the fastening; it looked as 
though large glistening flakes had fallen on the 
head of this radiant snow-queen and had crystal¬ 
lized in obedience to her will, to crown her with 
light. Round her throat she wore a necklace to 
match. 

This meeting at the door of the dressing-room 
sealed Otto’s fate. The beatific admiration that 
flooded his being left him no doubt that he had 
lost his soul and senses to Lucinda — that he 
loved her with passionate devotion — that he had 
loved her from the instant when he first saw her 
divine loveliness in the noontide stillness of the 
wood. And inseparably from this he felt his 
heart gripped by acute suffering — the prescience 
of a terrible inward and outward struggle — a per¬ 
fect hatred of himself. He started violently when 
Doctor Lehrbach said in his friendly simplicity: 

“ Well, what do you think of that gown a la 
Minerve ? Simple and becoming ? It was my 
own idea and met with my lady’s approbation at 
once. I like to see a young woman dressed with 
some sort of respect for the dictates of Art.” 

Lucinda had greeted the young man with her 
usual reserve; a faint curl of displeasure passed 
over her lips at her husband’s speech, and then 
she resumed her ordinary expression of lofty in- 


THE WILL. 


217 


difference. Dr. Lehrbach offered her his arm 
and they went along the gallery to the tall door¬ 
way, with a frieze above it, that led into the 
drawing-rooms. 

Otto followed them, stunned by the storm of 
his own feelings. He made his bow to the mis¬ 
tress of the house like a man in a dream ; but Frau 
von Diiren, who was standing by the door sur¬ 
rounded by a group of laughing and eager guests, 
was far too much occupied to give more than a 
polite nod to the sub-editor of the “ Glocke.” He 
was received no less coolly by her husband ; but 
Camilla, whom he had not seen since he left 
Oberhorchheim, held out her hand, so that Baron 
von Tyllichau-Sassnitz, who was standing by her 
side, could not avoid affecting some degree of cor¬ 
diality. Otto offered his congratulations — doing 
his utmost to prevent the hero’s suspecting the 
faintest trace of irony in his tone. To Camilla 
herself Herr von Tyllichau was the beau ideal of 
attentive courtesy, and Otto began to wonder 
whether he had not been unjust in his estimate of 
the young prodigal. 

The great drawing-room, and two rooms ad¬ 
joining, grew, by degrees, fuller and fuller of long 
rustling trains, white ties, and gaudy uniforms. 
Tea was handed round. Otto exchanged a few 


218 


THE WILL. 


civil words with Doctor Wolf, who was soon sur¬ 
rounded by half-a-dozen ladies past the bloom of 
youth who besieged him with a storm of flattery 
which he good-humoredly parried. Further in 
the background Salomon’s voice was audible as 
he stood with his arms folded, talking politics with 
dramatic vehemence to a court official. Kis vic¬ 
tim at last turned on his heel with a sardonic 
smile, and then the professor attacked Otto, shak¬ 
ing hands with him and gently drawing him aside. 

“ Well,” he said, “and how do you like your¬ 
self here ? Patrician wealth, lordly opulence ! 
And then the proud consciousness that you have 
earned it all yourself—that it is all the fruit of 
your own personal-political economy — which is 
accurately true in Von Diiren’s case.— What do 
you say to that — heh ?” 

“I say,” replied Otto, “that the crop is enor¬ 
mous, preposterous! How many thousands of men, 
no less clever and hardworking have neverthe¬ 
less ...” 

“ Right — you are quite right! Such success 
as Herr von Diiren’s must always remain a matter 
of luck. And I must admit that the scale of hos¬ 
pitality here does not answer to the ideal laid 
down by the Philosopher. At the same time — 
I may own to a sort of aesthetic satisfaction when 


T 11 E WILL. 


219 


I see a highly-organized undertaking prosper, and 
industry and prudence propagating good. Take 
my word for it, young man, the path to great re¬ 
sults is not so thornless as perhaps you fancy. I 
can tell you ...” and his voice sank to a whisper 
— “ even the firm of A. H. Diiren has had some 
awkward passages. It is no secret— six or eight 
years ago a disaster occurred which was within an 
ace of ruining the whole concern. The sparrows 
on the housetops chirped it to one another that at 
the Easter sales, the firm of Diiren had failed to 
pay 150,000 thalers that they owed to two paper 
manufacturers. In the publishing world it was 
thought to be all up with them ; they were al¬ 
lowed three months to complete their ruin — but 
they weathered the crisis. If the smash had 
come our friend here would have lost not only 
the fruits of twenty years of labor but the fortune 
he inherited as well, which, before he grew am¬ 
bitious, amply satisfied his moderate views. A 
doubtful prize, after twenty years of toil, do not 
you think ? The man was not a capitalist you 
must understand in the socialist sense, not a 
bourgeois , a money-grubber, battening on the 
sweat of working-men, but a working-man him¬ 
self, ready and willing to earn the position he had 
set his heart on. Well, enough of that!” 


220 


THE WILL. 


He moved away with much dignity. Otto 
took his stand on the marble hearth-flag and re¬ 
viewed the company. A few young ladies in be¬ 
witching ball-dresses attracted his interest — the 
graceful trickery of their glittering fans, the gentle 
movements of their flower-decked heads charmed 
his fancy. He saw one of them turn to look after 
Salomon; she laughed — her teeth were like 
ivory — there were two delicious little dimples in 
her cheeks — and yet, Otto thought, there was no 
one — literally not one to compare with Lucinda. 
His eye sought her; there, far away, in the re¬ 
motest corner, she leaned at her ease in a hand¬ 
somely-carved arm-chair. A dozen men, old and 
young, were fluttering round her, eager to win a 
smile, a glance, or only a word of recognition. 
Still, there she sat, supreme and unapproachable 
in her serene, marble beauty; nay, as she raised 
her fan to her face, Otto felt certain it was to hide 
a yawn. This conviction filled him with delight; 
he could not have borne that his Lady in white 
should show even a gleam of favor to any one of 
her circle of adorers. 

As he stood there, letting his thoughts drift as 
they might, Doctor Lehrbach suddenly clapped 
him on the shoulder. 

“ Listen to me,” he said in a low voice. “ I 


THE WILL. 


221 


have been thinking . . . you must get at the heart 
and marrow of this performance. You must con¬ 
trive at supper to sit near some important person 
— Von Sunthelm let us say. I, for one, do not 
rave about the baron ; he is nothing but an old 
dandy, and you could not find his heart if you 
tried ; but that is not to the point at present. He 
is rich, of an old family, and very good company: 
that is quite enough for the part he is called to 
play. It can do a young fellow who wants to rise 
no harm to make acquaintance, at any rate, with 
a man of good position.— It is the same with a 
number of others — in short, I told my wife you 
should take her in to supper. She has the im¬ 
mense advantage, so far as you are concerned — 
quite apart from her personal and social merits — 
of being at home here and of having one of the 
best places. Make no difficulties, my dear fellow! 
Never mind if people think it a piece of impu¬ 
dence . . .” 

“You are too kind . . stammered Otto ; but 
his friend gave him no time to argue. 

“Now first of all,” he said taking Wellner’s 
arm, “ come with me and inspect the vieille garde, 
the old-established friends of the family. I must 
introduce you to them, you will soon make ac¬ 
quaintance with youngsters after supper. Stop— 


222 


THE WILL. 


let me give you a little information. Look there 

— that lady, well past fifty, with bobbing curls 
and a yellow face — that is the Baroness Eleonora 
von Sunthelm, Baron Anastasius’ wife. What, 
you know her ? By sight ? Good. The man to 
whom she is speaking — not the young one with 
his hair cut in a fringe, you saw him before at 
Oberhorchheim: Kurt Ewald, a poet by trade, 
but by the grace of God the son of a millionaire; 

— no, the other one, with a huge bald head — is 
one of our most popular novelists, Doctor Keyser, 
the president of the Authors’ club. You may live 
to shake hands with him yet. To his right, that 
little clean-shaved man is Lobbing, the famous 
national-liberal member, a mighty speaker and a 
first-rate whist player. He is unlucky in love, 
for his wife, they say, henpecks the valiant de¬ 
fender of the people most unmercifully, but he is 
proportionally lucky in play, and especially at a 
rubber.— A military-looking man with a pleasant, 
shrewd face is his excellency General Clairvaux. 
There, — there comes the Baron, Anastasius the 
magnificent — there; do you see? Not a tall 
man, but conspicuous for the dazzling perfection 
of his shirt-front — speaking now to Doctor 
Keyser. — A gracious being, hell ? Quite the 
Maecaenas ?” 


THE WILL. 


223 


It was with a strange mixture of feelings that 
Otto recognized, in the Baron Anastasius von 
Sunthelm-Hiddensoe, the mysterious stranger 
who, on that Sunday afternoon, had pursued him 
home to the Sandgasse. That incident had made 
no very lasting impression on him ; but now, and 
in connection with the note to Roderich Lund, a 
light was thrown upon it which gave it promi¬ 
nence in his mind. Whatever its import might 
be Otto decided that he, at any rate, must give no 
outward sign : he said nothing to Lehrbach of 
his adventure and prepared to be perfectly uncon¬ 
scious of it with the baron ; — besides, their meet¬ 
ing had been so brief and so purely accidental! 

They made their way across the room and in 
a few minutes Otto found himself within the 
charmed circle of the elect. Doctor Lehrbach in¬ 
troduced him with the emphasis of personal friend¬ 
ship, and a man thus recommended by Doctor 
Lehrbach was certain of a polite reception. The 
parchment-colored countenance of the baroness, 
particularly, beamed affably on the young man ; 
her keen grey eye had at once recognized the 
sub-editor in the office of the “ Glocke.” Perhaps 
she hoped to find in the lawyer’s protege one of 
those “promising talents ” whom she so urgently 
needed in the interest of public welfare. 


224 


THE WILL. 


While she only gave Wellner time to make 
his bow to Herr Lobbing, to General Clairvaux, 
and to the laurelled president of the Authors’ 
club, before she seized upon him with eager volu¬ 
bility, her husband stood a few paces behind her, 
nervously stroking his dyed beard, wriggling and 
shrugging his shoulders till his shining shirt-front 
creaked and crackled. The idea that had struck 
him so forcibly on that Sunday, was being con¬ 
firmed to a certainty. His lips quivered, and 
twice or thrice the tip of his tongue showed be¬ 
tween his teeth. 

“Control yourself, man!” he was saying to 
himself. “ It is preposterous that you should be 
so staggered at meeting the man whom you saw 
in Lehrbach’s carriage, in his father-in-law’s 
house. Nothing can be more natural. Why this 
ridiculous heart-beating, this secret shudder, this 
unpleasant sensation down your spine ? The 
thing is not proved to a certainty even now — 
and if it were, forewarned is forearmed.” 

So Baron Anastasius controlled his sinister 
suspicions with the grace of a practised dissimula¬ 
tor ; he bowed coolly, politely, and with a grand 
air to the young man whom Lehrbach introduced 
as his friend—but there was a glitter in his eyes, a 
dull fire beneath his drooping eyelids, like the 


THE WILL. 22 5 

glare of a fox when he hears the hounds on his 
track. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

SUPPER was now announced and in the various 
groups there was a stir and bustle like that of an 
ant-heap. Herr von Diiren, as silent and grave 
as ever, led away the Baroness Eleonora, General 
Clairvaux took the mistress of the house. And 
so, two and two, the company defiled through the 
inner drawing-room to the dining-room. 

The touch of Lucinda’s hand on his arm trans¬ 
ported Otto into a realm of dreams ; he dared 
not look up — hardly dared breathe. He had the 
key now to the feeling that had thrilled him when 
that same hand had laid the wet handkerchief on 
his forehead. Amid the chaos of noises on every 
side he heard nothing but the rustle of her silk 
dress ; he saw her — though his eyes were fixed 
on the carpet — saw every line of her graceful 
figure and lovely face. 

She walked on, with her head a httle on one 
side, and an indifferent gaze from under her long 
lashes. She saw her sister Camilla looking at 
Eric with a rapturous smile and a bright color 


Vol I. 


15 



226 


THE WILL. 


in her cheeks. Lucinda had no particular liking 
for Eric von Tyllichau ; she saw through his un¬ 
steady and untrustworthy nature with the intu¬ 
ition of a superior woman. But now, when her 
own and her mother’s opposition had been over¬ 
ruled by her father’s persistency and Camilla’s ur¬ 
gent entreaties, she felt it only right to keep her 
opinions to herself and sympathize as far as 
possible with her sister’s dreams of happiness. 
The gladness that beamed so unmistakably in Ca¬ 
milla’s eyes was really enough to disarm sceptical 
anxiety. But this evening Lucinda herself was, 
for the first time in her life, under the influence 
of a wonderful excitement; she felt just as though 
the curtain had been lifted from before the shrine 
which she had till now supposed to be vacant, 
and had revealed the Divine Image, radiant and 
glorious in the sun-light. Her breath came 
faster ; a faint sigh fluttered through her parted 
lips ; then, with hasty decision, she looked away. 

She smiled with bitter satisfaction at seeing- 

o 

Anna Fohrenstedt, the fashionable physician’s 
wife, sitting quite near her. Lucinda, of course, 
knew all that town-gossip had to say about this 
couple ; she knew that the popular adviser, who 
never left a lady in the lurch when she wished to 
spend the winter at Mentone or a summer at 


THE WILL. 


227 


Scheveningen, was indifference itself to his wife, * 
treating her with the impudent contempt which 
makes a man think himself justified in tossing 
away, like a neglected toy, the heart that has been 
given into his keeping. Lucinda knew how keenly 
Frau Fohrenstedt suffered under this treatment; 
but whereas she had hitherto felt only womanly 
compassion for the hapless soul, she was now 
conscious of a certain infusion of complacency in 
comparing the enviable lot she herself had drawn 
with that of the poor victim. 

Three long rooms, separated only by curtained 
doorways, were thrown open, and one long table 
ran from end to end. The glitter of silver plate 
and of cut glass, the lavish abundance of flowers, 
ferns, and innumerable wax-lights, gave promise 
of a magnificent banquet. The rooms themselves, 
with their cornices of polished verd-antique , their 
handsome hangings, and elegantly-painted ceil¬ 
ings, had an intoxicating effect on Otto — and in 
the midst of all these glories, she, the most glori¬ 
ous of all, the Lady in white, the star-crowned 
radiant woman . . . . ! 

Otto felt that he must collect himself; to give 
himself courage he drank off a glass of the strong 
Greek wine which was now sent round ; he was 
secretly grateful to Baron Anastasius, who sat on 

*5 * 


228 


THE WILL. 


Lucinda’s right hand, for dividing his chivalrous 
attentions between his own lady and Otto Well- 
ner’s, and addressing a few words to the lawyer’s 
wife which relieved the young man of the duty of 
plunging at once into conversation. 

He took advantage of the reprieve to make a 
survey of his opposite neighbors between the 
silver vases and the jars of flowers. His vis-a-vis 
was General Clairvaux with Frau von Diiren ; 
next to her, smiling and cavalier as usual, sat the 
happy lover and next to him again his Camilla. 
Then came some official personage, Von Tylli- 
chau’s uncle on the mother’s side. Close to this 
gentleman’s shoulder bobbed the ringlets of the 
Baroness von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe— then came 
her partner, the master of the house. In short 
Otto, the unknown and youthful sub-editor, found 
himself among the cream of the company; and if 
he rightly interpreted Herr von Duren’s look of 
speechless enquiry, that gentleman regarded this 
singular arrangement as startling to say the least, 
if not actually unbecoming. An uncomfortable 
sense of being in a false position was rapidly de¬ 
veloping in Otto’s mind when he caught sight of 
Lehrbach’s rubicund and radiant countenance, 
nodding to him from a seat a little way down on 
the same side of the table. “ Go on and pros- 


THE WILL. 


229 


per,” that nod seemed to say. “Do not be scared 
by your neighbors. I — your friend and supporter, 
have settled it all — and I have a right to decide.” 

Before long Otto found himself talking with 
some freedom to the good man’s handsome wife. 
Lucinda said little, but she understood the art of 
listening in such a way as to inspire her com¬ 
panion to eloquence. He soon lost his awkward¬ 
ness ; even the discovery that the baron was 
listening with both his ears did not trouble him. 
Weighed against the unutterable charm which 
held him bound, every other consideration was 
worthless — a mere dead letter. He did not even 
heed the softened strains of music which accom¬ 
panied the talk and clatter. It was not till the 
tempered sound suddenly ceased that he became 
conscious of it. 

Herr von Duren rang on his glass. In a brief 
speech he welcomed his guests, and then officially 
announced the open secret of the occasion of this 
festive meeting: The betrothal of his daughter, 
Maria Eleonora Camilla, to Baron Albert-Eric 
von Tyllichau-Sassnitz. 

When he ceased Doctor Lehrbach raised his 
glass to lead the cheers for the affianced pair. He 
acquitted himself of the duty with admirable 
grace; his little introductory speech was so full 


230 


THE WILL. 


of hearty feeling that its effect was far greater than 
that of any ordinary toast. Frau von Diiren put 
her handkerchief to her eyes ; Camilla’s father sat 
staring fixedly before him ; Camilla herself was 
radiant, and the bridegroom seemed deeply 
touched. Lehrbach painted the joys of married 
life in glowing colors as the only form of happi¬ 
ness which could wholly and truly satisfy the 
heart; he dwelt on the solemnity of the occasion, 
expressed the hopes of the parents and the good 
wishes of their friends. 

Even those who knew nothing of the speaker’s 
private life could not fail to feel that his was a 
thoroughly harmonious nature — that he was a 
man to whom the peaceful joys which he extolled 
were a matter of experience. He ended with 
such fervent spirit that the cheers, which thun¬ 
dered through the rooms with a loud burst of 
music, had all the effect of genuine and spontane¬ 
ous enthusiasm. 

When the storm had died away the betrothed 
couple rose and went round to thank some of the 
elder members of the company for their presence 
and congratulations. The younger people had 
left their seats during the cheering, and had of¬ 
fered their good wishes to the young pair. Otto 
wondered whether he ought not to give his arm 


TIIE WILL. 


231 


to his lady and lead her round, but he dared not. 
So he sat in uncomfortable doubt till Tyllichau 
and Camilla came up to them. He and the baron 
clinked glasses — Otto with a touch of sentiment 
in his politeness which evidently much pleased 
the hero of the moment. The two sisters em¬ 
braced each other with tender affection, and as 
Lucinda sat down again Otto thought he detected 
a sparkling moisture in her eye—which did not 
resolve itself into a tear. But her face and man¬ 
ner were unusually bright; and when Baron An- 
astasius asked her some question, there was a 
gracious mirthfulness in her reply, a subtle, gay 
audacity . . . 

When Camilla and Tyllichau had returned to 
their seats the fun grew faster and the temper of 
the company more festal. His excellency General 
Clairvaux proposed the health of the parents of 
the bride-elect; Herr Lobbing proposed that of 
Tyllichau’s uncle; the editor of the “ Glocke ” 
recited a graceful “ impromptu ” in honor of the 
ladies ; Professor Salomon, in his thundering bass, 
invited them to drink to the continued prosperity 
of the grand enterprise which had been created 
by the head of the famous Firm, and invoked a 
blessing on the progress and development of 
society and citizenship. 


232 


THE WILL. 


All these toasts aroused no response in Otto’s 
mind. In spite of the choice old Burgundy which 
he had tasted freely enough, in spite of the finest 
Rhine wines which had followed, and in spite of 
every effort of will, he was in a strange frame of 
mind — absolutely indifferent to everything that 
had no direct bearing on Lucinda. He passed 
the most tempting dishes though he had not 
eaten a morsel since his breakfast. He replied at 
random to the timid remarks of Frau Fohrenstedt, 
who sat on his left — so much beside the mark, in 
fact, that the poor woman colored more than once, 
leaving it doubtful whether she regarded his ab¬ 
sence of mind as an incivility or as rather flatter¬ 
ing. Doctor Lehrbach, who was the only person 
to observe her blushes and who did not know 
what the young man might have said to occasion 
them, threatened Otto once or twice with his fat 
forefinger, as much as to say: “Fie — you must 
not play any naughty tricks here!”—he had 
little notion of what Otto’s real feelings were. 

They rose from the supper-table at about 
eleven and the company paired off again to return 
to the drawing-rooms. The largest was cleared 
for dancing; divided from this by an ante-room 
were the smoking and card-rooms. 

When the dancing began the gentlemen were 


THE WILL. 233 

released from their duteous attendance on the 
ladies they had taken in to supper. New partner¬ 
ships were formed, even for the opening polonaise. 
When Otto had made his bow to Lucinda he joined 
Doctor Salomon, who happened to be passing, in 
a promenade through the corridor which was dec¬ 
orated with flowers, and finally, in tow of the 
worthy professor, found himself in the famous 
conservatory of Von Diiren's house. Some time 
since Salomon had enlarged on the therapeutical 
importance of this wonderful winter garden ; he 
had pointed out that Herr von Diiren, by trans¬ 
ferring the Italian atmosphere and Italian plant- 
life hither, under the foggy shroud of the north, 
had increased the elasticity of his body and 
mind, and consequently prolonged his powers 
of work. 

Irrespective of such considerations this con¬ 
servatory was a master achievement of modern 
iron-work and remarkable for magnificent speci¬ 
mens of every class of vegetation. 

The rest of the company seemed to find more 
attraction in the sound of dance music, just be¬ 
ginning, in the fragrance of tobacco, or at the 
well-lighted card-tables, than in the Agaves and 
Orchids which they had often seen before; indeed, 
Doctor Salomon would probably have allowed 


234 


THE WILL. 


himself the peaceful enjoyment of a cigar on the 
leather covered cushions of the divan in the smok¬ 
ing-room, if the cooler atmosphere of the passage 
had not tempted him out, and the pleasure of 
explaining, showing, and descanting had not de¬ 
tained him in the conservatory. 

The two men soon found themselves alone. 
The winter garden was indeed a delightful place, 
a scene of enchantment. It was dimly lighted 
and the soft twilight among the fan-palms, the 
orange-trees and oleanders had a mysterious 
moonlight effect. Otto could have abandoned 
himself to rapturous dreaming, but that his com¬ 
panion’s incessant flow of words scared away the 
elfin visions, born of tepid airs and perfume. 

At the end of a quarter of an hour Salomon, 
who even here, could not seal the fount of his 
learning, was for going back to the drawing-room; 
but Otto longed to enjoy the intoxicating in¬ 
fluences of this tropical night, for a few minutes 
at least, without the prosaic comments of his phil¬ 
osophical friend ; so he said : “ If you will go I 
will follow you in five minutes,” — and when 
Salomon had left him, not without hesitation, he 
made his way into the outer portion of the hot¬ 
house. There he seated himself on a bench not 
far from the door, and breathing the heavy scent 


THE WILL. 


235 


of magnolias and pomegranates he closed his eyes 
and gave himself up to a half-waking dream. 

How long it had lasted he did not know, for 
his brain was too busy to estimate time, when 
behind him, and beyond a screen of shrubs, he 
heard low voices — two, a man’s and a woman’s. 

That of the man, though cautiously sunk al¬ 
most to a whisper, struck him at once as familiar; 
but it was in vain that he hastily thought over the 
list of his acquaintance who were likely to be in 
this place. He could identify no one as the owner 
of the voice. The girl’s voice was quite common¬ 
place. Nothing could be further from Otto’s nature 
than prying curiosity ; surprise, however, and his 
strangely unsettled mood kept him from moving; 
he was in a half comatose state which weighed on 
his volition; and by the time he had mastered the 
situation and saw that the part of an involuntary 
listener, under the present circumstances, was ob¬ 
viously less defensible than it had been in the 
wood, when the two ladies had come within ear¬ 
shot — it was too late. He decided that it would 
be better to let the couple return by the same 
way as they had come; there was evidently 
another alley behind the clump of shrubs — they 
had not come in from the corridor or Otto could 
not have failed to see them. 


236 THE WILL. 

“ And you will really come with me ?” said 
the man in a tone of impassioned tenderness. 
u You are not afraid of the long voyage and a 
foreign home ?” 

“ Not a bit,” replied the girl’s voice. “ You 
can do what you like with me, and you know it 
— I am ready to go with you among the Indians 
and Cannibals. All I ask is that you will make 
short work of it.” 

“ As short as possible; am not I dying of 
impatience just as much as you ? And I will 
make it up to you, Fanny — you shall live like a 
princess ! Do you hear, my pretty pet ?” 

This sort of thing went on for some little 
time, interrupted by tender sighs and energetic 
kissing. At last the girl said : 

“ Now, I must be going. The dancing has 
begun and I am sure to be wanted in the ante¬ 
room. Good-bye, my dear—you may go quite 
safely up the middle stairs ; you will not meet a 
soul there now, and you know how to get round 
the porter!” 

Otto heard the pair kiss once more with im¬ 
passioned fervor, and then the man’s steps went 
off into the distance. The love-sick Fanny waited 
till the sound had died away; then she went 
along the alley behind the shrubs towards the 




THE WILL. 


237 


glass door leading into the inner division of the 
conservatory. The paths wound in and out, and 
before she had gone far she stood still, for two 
men were talking in the other half. They came 
on, straight through the open door ; Anastasius 
von Sunthelm and Eric von Tyllichau. Otto, 
by leaning forward a little, could plainly see their 
faces, flushed and beaming from a good meal and 
quite enough wine. 

“ It is a most interesting affair, my dear Tyl¬ 
lichau,” said Von Sunthelm, “ and really there is 
something quite romantic about the little adven¬ 
ture. To be wounded in the service of protecting 
two ladies — what more distinguished or exciting 
stroke of fortune can a young man hope for? I may 
say that I have taken a particular fancy to this 
Otto Wellner. Do you know anything of his ante¬ 
cedents ?” Tyllichau answered absently ; his quick 
eye had caught sight of pretty Fanny behind a 
palm-tree. He turned on his heel, thus compel¬ 
ling his companion to do the same and the elder 
man repeated his question : but Otto could not 
overhear the answer which was given in a low 
tone. The two gentlemen thus made their way 
back to the open door; their slow steps crunch¬ 
ing the gravel. 

Fanny did not stir; she was waiting till the 


238 


THE WILL. 


coast was clear, for the way by which her myste¬ 
rious lover had gone would have taken her to 
another part of the house. She listened, all was 
still; she was on the point of making a rapid rush 
for the corridor when another comer interfered — 
Herr von Tyllichau appeared at the door, alone; 
and he came straight towards her. 

“ So I have caught you at last, you little imp 
of mischief!” he whispered taking the girl’s head 
between his hands. “ And what is the meaning 
of this ? There was a time when you could not 
see enough of me, but you are quite changed 
within the last few weeks. You will crave for 
pardon, you silly little rogue, and do penance as 
you deserve.” 

“ Herr Baron, consider, think,” stammered 
Fanny. “ If my young lady were to find out. . .” 

“ That is my affair. One kiss — in all honor.” 

“ Oh ! I am in such a fright! Let me go, 
Herr Baron, you must not, it will never do . . .” 

“ But here is proof to the contrary,” said the 
baron. 

And again Otto had the doubtful pleasure of 
hearing the smack of an emphatic kiss; a second 
and a third bore evidence that Fanny’s resistance 
had been feeble. 

“Why, child,” said the profligate lover, 


THE WILL. 


239 


“what are your lips so like cherries for, if it is to 
be a crime to touch them ? Listen now — how 
would it be if you were to arrange so as to have 
a little errand to do in Prinzessinnenstrasse to¬ 
morrow evening, about seven ? Heh ?” 

“ Impossible ; I shall be busy to-morrow from 
morning till night — and the next day, too. And 
besides, as I say, if my young lady should come 
to know ...” 

“ But she will not. However, just as you 
choose — I am a good-natured fellow and can pay 
for my amusements.— Now, why are you in such 
a devil of a hurry ?” 

“I must go — no, no, not another second.— 
Oh ! you are breaking my fingers, you are very 
rude and disagreeable, Herr Baron! Merciful 
Heaven, what a world we live in !” 

And she fled like a gazelle. Tyllichau looked 
after her. 

“A fascinating little hussy!” he said to himself 
as he smoothed his moustache. “ If the fair 
Camilla had half as much blood in her veins .... 
Ton my soul! to-day of all days — it is rather too 
strong perhaps. Well, she knows nothing about 
it, and after all . . .” And he went back into the 
house humming a gay air from one of Suppe’s 
operas. 


240 


THE WILL. 


Otto rose; he was excited and indignant be¬ 
yond measure. He longed to rush after the 
young baron, to fling some vehement utterance of 
contempt in his face — or else, heedless of the 
scandal it would create, to go to the bride’s par¬ 
ents and proclaim: “You are selling your 
daughter’s happiness to a miserable ruffian !” 

Then, suddenly, a scorching shame filled his 
soul. The rapturous romance which Lucinda had 
raised in his brain he saw suddenly in the light of 
a base piece of treachery. He had given himself 
up to its enchantment with the simplicity of a 
child; now, the sight of another man’s disloyalty 
roused his conscience. A grave face rose before 
him — the face of the friend who, out of the 
depths of a guileless heart, had admitted him to 
such unsuspecting intimacy and shown him such 
generous liberality; the kind, frank features wore 
a look of pained reproach. Had he not sinned 
against him already ? Already laid hands on his 
benefactor’s happiness? For Lehrbach was his 
benefactor, even though he had made no great 
sacrifices for his protege, though he had done 
nothing of a kind to entitle him in ordinary par¬ 
lance to life-long gratitude. 

Otto returned to the ball-room deeply agi¬ 
tated. In the turmoil of his feelings he had 


THE WILL. 


241 


totally forgotten what, under other circumstances, 
would have given him matter for reflection : the 
words of Baron von Sunthelm. The immediate 
impression had been startling. Baron Anastasius 
had a fancy for him ! — a broader lie, he felt, was 
never uttered — or his fancy was expressed in 
lowering looks, a scowling brow, a nervous twitch¬ 
ing of the lips. — However, as Otto entered the 
room where the couples were swaying and spin¬ 
ning to the rhythm of a languishing waltz-tune, 
he had ceased to think of the mystery of this 
enigmatical man. His own guilt weighed, al¬ 
most tangibly as it seemed, on his burning brow. 

He saw Lucinda floating past, in the arms of a 
splendid young officer. 

“ Lieutenant Clairvaux —son of his excellency 
the general ...” Doctor Wolf explained. 

Wellner could not take his eyes off the pair. 
The tall, manly figure, the bright glad-looking 
face, at once massive and refined, roused his 
fiercest jealousy. Virtue, prudence, all that his 
bitter remorse had whispered to him were swept 
away by the storm. His passion surged up, more 
irresistible than ever, and with it a sinister pre¬ 
sentiment of threatening evil. 



242 


THE WILL, 


CHAPTER XV. 

It was a morning in the beginning of Novem¬ 
ber. Ever since the night of the betrothal Otto 
Wellner had lived almost a hermit’s life, going 
neither to the Von Diirens’ nor to see his paternal 
protector Herr Lehrbach, and paying no visits 
even to the family of his worthy landlady. Under 
pretext of press of work he had retired every 
evening after tea to his own room, and there 
brooded over his melancholy thoughts- or made 
vain attempts to pursue his literary studies. But 
he could do nothing; he found it impossible to 
give his attention to a single page, and could only 
get through the absolutely necessary work of his 
office, which had now become to a great extent 
mechanical. 

On the morning in question, Otto was sitting 
as usual in the editor’s office, finishing, with a 
sigh, a letter to the president of the “ Authors’ 
club,” Herr Doctor Keyser. The contents of 
the letter were in themselves unpleasant, for it 
was to inform the popular writer that his last 
novel in four volumes, “ Melting Outlines ” was 




THE WILL. 


243 


not considered suitable to be reviewed at any 
length in the “ Glocke.” He heard the three fa¬ 
miliar taps at the door, and Doctor Salomon’s 
jolly round face shone in on Otto’s moodiness, as 
the sun rises above a fog. 

The man’s unfailing and dignified geniality 
had for Otto an irresistible charm, and he listened 
with genuine pleasure to the professor’s proposal 
that they should at once carry out their plan of 
visiting every department of the Firm’s works. 
He felt as if the worthy political economist had 
held out a hope of release from the oppression of 
his general dissatisfaction. Doctor Wolf made 
no objection ; the letter to Keyser was finished, 
and everything else could wait till the afternoon. 
The editor of the Encyclopedia of political econ- 
omy made his way through the interminable pas¬ 
sage which, turning off at the angle of the wing, 
led through the main buildings of the third quad¬ 
rangle. 

“ We will go first through the type-foundry,” 
said Salomon in the tone of a lecturer. “ On 
logical grounds this seems to me to be beginning 
at the beginning. Come.” 

In the very first room of the foundry they 
came on the herculean Prohle. He was brief, re¬ 
served, almost rude. When, in answer to Sal- 



244 


THE WILL. 


omon’s enquiries, he explained that ever since 
the beginning of August he had been exclu¬ 
sively employed in casting the letter n, and 
worked every day for nine hours, Otto imagined 
that the type-founder, though not usually prone 
to jesting, was laughing at him. The enormous 
stores of this single letter, waiting only to be 
finished and sorted, convinced him, however, of 
his mistake. 

From the type-foundry they passed into the 
shop for Zincography ; then to that for wood-en¬ 
graving and copper-plate, and from thence to the 
printing-rooms. The great rotating machines, 
working incessantly day and night; the incredible 
rapidity with which the blank sheets were printed 
and delivered ; the accuracy of the hot-press 
rollers ; the precision with which each workman 
did his part in feeding and regulating the cease¬ 
less rise and fall of the cylinders, fly-wheels and 
machine-belts — all made a deep impression on 
Otto, and again the envious thought rose in his 
mind : “ All this strenuous and incessant activity 
of so many hundred hands for the service and 
benefit of one man !” 

After seeing the compositors and printers they 
went into a large room devoted to book-binding. 
Here the scene was repeated: The enormous 


THE WILL. 


245 


presses, each with a power of several ton-weight, 
the cutting-machines with their guillotine-like 
knives, and the endless piles of sheets, folded, 
stitched, or bound, combined to give an idea of 
colossal enterprise and labor. 

In the last room sat a number of girls noise¬ 
lessly occupied. 

“These,” said Salomon, “are the gilders. 
There, on the shelves to the right, wrapped in 
grey paper, you see a store of gold-leaf: there to 
the left are the types and, lower down, the tools 
for stamping; first you see— but you had better 
watch how it is done.—Would you allow me ... ?” 
and he went up to one of the girls who was evi¬ 
dently a beginner, and had a very simple piece of 
work entrusted to her. She looked up. 

“ Martha !” Otto involuntarily exclaimed. 

It was, in fact Martha, the fair-haired Kill - 
nerin from the Golden Anchor at Gernsheim; 
Martha, whom Otto had seen so recently riding in 
the carriage by the side of that Frau Tharow. 
She now had on a grey checked cotton gown, al¬ 
most as plain as a nun’s, and her features had the 
same look of silent sorrow as they had worn when 
Otto first saw her. Nay, it seemed as though 
some real grief had added itself to her habitual 
melancholy — a grief too deep for lamentations. 


246 


THE WILL. 


but that weighed all the more heavily on her soul. 
A faint blush of surprise tinged her face. 

“ Do you know that pretty, fair girl ?” whis¬ 
pered Salomon. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Otto to Martha, 
“ but your name rose to my lips — at Gernsheim 
— but you will hardly recollect. . ” 

“Oh yes — I knew you again,” replied Mar¬ 
tha indifferently. “You came with the school¬ 
master from Halldorf. . . 

“ With Herr Heinzius, quite true ! — And it 
surprised me to come upon you here — when 
quite lately . . . .” 

Martha bent over her work and made no reply. 

“ What I was about to ask,” Salomon put in, 
“ was whether you would kindly permit — Herr 
Otto Wellner is going over all the works — would 
kindly explain to him the process of gilding, for 
I, I confess, am perfectly ignorant of the art.” 

“ Oh, never mind,” said Otto smiling, for at 
the moment he was more interested in Martha 
than in her work. “ I should not like to detain 
the young lady. We can just see — what is it 
you are at work on ?” 

He took up a finished book-cover. “ Sopho- 
nisba,” he read in smart gold letters. “A tragedy 
by Kurt Ewald.” 


THE WILL. 


2T7 

« t 

“Kurt Ewald!” added Salomon, putting the 
cover close to his spectacles. “A very promising 
young man — well, he is past thirty, to be sure, 
— a member of our literary club — but you know 
him, I forgot. The only marvel to me is that he 
should have finished anything! One of our col¬ 
leagues nicknamed him ‘ Ahasuerus,’ because he 
dawdles on, year after year, over his unfinished 
work; like Penelope he undoes by night what he 
has done by day. Erasures, revisions, remodel¬ 
lings— these are the breath of his nostrils; the 
pity is that as a rule he cuts out what is good 
and leaves what is bad — or so Herr Keyser de¬ 
clares. A very moderate amount of talent—in¬ 
spired by respect for his own genius! Schiller, 
Goethe, and Lessing rolled into one — the predes¬ 
tined Messiah of the German Drama! — And at 
the same time a peppery fellow, who takes nothing 
so much amiss as other people’s success. In the 
club — by the way, you ought to come to us one 
evening. We have a meeting this evening, and 
as a member of the editor’s staff you are due to 
put in an appearance.” 

“ Do you think so ?” 

“Certainly! I myself am one of the upper 
ten of the office; but I think it encourages good 
feeling —esprit de corps .—And we are not all 


2 4'3 


THE WILL. 


mere novelists and rhymsters; you will find sev¬ 
eral serious writers — for instance Kuno, the geo¬ 
grapher, from Zehl, and Willibald Kuhner, the 
lecturer on philosophy. The political press, 
again, is very adequately represented. Listen, I 
will make an arrangement with you on the spot. 
I will fetch you at half-past six; we will toddle 
off to the Louisenstrasse, dine at Hartwich’s, and 
be at Weidner’s punctually at eight—you know 
the place, in the Canalstrasse, where there was a 
great popular meeting the other day.— We chose 
the house in the first instance after due reflection 
on the great beer question. ... You smile? Do not 
underrate the infinite importance of a good tap 
of beer ! If the ancients had but drunk beer the 
incursion of the Goths and Vandals would not 
have led to such fatal issues! But this is paren¬ 
thetical.— It is a settled thing; I fetch you at 
half-past six.” 

“You really are most kind,” said Otto. 

He had meanwhile replaced the cover for 
“Sophonisba” on the table. “Good-day, Fraulein 
Martha,” he said in an undertone; but the girl’s 
response was almost inaudible, and Otto, shaking 
his head, followed the professor who had gone on. 

Wellner could not in any way account for the 
sudden changes in Martha’s career. At first a 


THE WILL. 


249 


waitress in the Golden Anchor at Gernsheim, 
then a gay and well-dressed young lady, driving 
in a carriage through the most fashionable streets 
of the city — and now gilding book covers for 6 
or 8 marks a week! These were vicissitudes 
greater and more sudden than any in the early 
life of the most famous parvenues . 

Half an hour later the two men once more 
found themselves in the open air. Salomon had 
returned to the subject of Kurt Ewald, and Otto 
enquired how it was that the author of “ Sopho- 
nisba” had got his work published by so distin¬ 
guished a firm, if he were a man of such second- 
rate talent. 

“My dear fellow/’ said the professor, “do 
you really imagine that merit alone strikes the 
balance in such matters ? Ewald is one of those 
writers who can do I 10 actual discredit to a pub¬ 
lishing firm ; besides, he has a fine fortune and his 
father is on the town-council. On such a basis 
an agreement is easily drawn up. Ewald him¬ 
self, of course, backs the loss.— Well, enough of 
that!—Now you have to go to work again till 
{Jne. Xaipe, ca cpiXraTt! I, for my part, feel a dis¬ 
tinct craving for an early draught of palatable 
liquor.— Half-past six — do not forget.” And he 
left his companion. 


250 


THE WILL. 


Otto spent the rest of the day in his usual oc¬ 
cupations ; Doctor Wolf left the office at half-past 
five, and when Salomon, faithful to his promise, 
went in an hour later, Otto sighed to find that he 
had spent that hour in idly brooding over his 
latest adventures. All power of will seemed to 
have died out in him under the enervating in¬ 
fluence of aimless dreaming. Matters were not 
better, but worse, during these days of solitary 
seclusion. Perhaps he had not taken the wisest 
course; perhaps it would have been safer and 
braver to defy Lucinda’s power over him; per¬ 
haps, with time, he might get accustomed to her 
dazzling presence. To-morrow would be Satur¬ 
day ; should he venture ? On the day of the be¬ 
trothal Doctor Lehrbach had said to him : “ We 
are always at home on Saturdays; when you 
have nothing better to do let us have the pleasure 
of seeing you . . . .” 

Professor Salomon broke the thread of his 
meditations; but the passionate desire which had 
presented itself to his consideration under the 
mask of an agreement with his conscience, had 
gained so firm a footing that Otto had in fact no 
doubt as to the issue. 

The two men walked at an easy pace to the 
Louisenstrasse, and after taking a few turns up 


THE WILL. 


251 


and down, went into the well-known restaurant 
where Salomon dined every Friday before the 
meeting of the Authors’ club. Otto had quite 
ceased to consider whether the luxuries forced 
upon him by circumstances were compatible with 
his slender means. Such reflections seemed to 
him so trivial, so pitiful! Things must take their 
course; when his pockets were empty extrava¬ 
gance must cease ; that was all. 

But in spite of this apathetic frame of mind he 
was somewhat startled at seeing the flowing mane 
of his fellow-lodger, Roderich Lund, stooping 
over the centre table, which was brilliantly laid 
with silver and glass — and in the very act of en¬ 
gulfing an oyster. 

“Can I believe my eyes?” said Otto, laying 
his hand on the poet’s shoulder. 

“You can,” replied Roderich, wiping his lips. 
“The Chablis here is capital, and the oysters — 
miraculous ! It is seven years since I tasted them 
last. Take a seat, Herr Professor—if you can 
condescend to dine at the same table with a man 
who is nothing but a poet.” 

“You are in error, my dear Herr Lund,” re¬ 
plied Salomon, while a sleek waiter pulled him 
out of his coat, not without some difficulty. “It 
is my calling and duty, I admit, to attack the 



•1 


1 " ' * ; i 

I . \\ . V - ’ / 

252 THE WILL. 

productions of literary dilletanti with all my 
might and main, but I always show due respect to 
true talent At the same time I am surprised to 
see you drinking wine; you should leave that to 
novelists and song-writers!” and taking a seat he 
called for a glass of Export-beer and the bill of 
fare. 

“Rut do tell me ...” Otto began, turning to 
Roderich. 

“I quite understand,” said the poet. “You 
are wondering how I came here, out of my attic 
in the Sandgasse, to eat oysters and drink French 
wine! It is simple enough. The director of the 
Stadt theater has read my nearly-finished tragedy, 
has accepted it, and paid me in advance three 
hundred marks on account of my share. Herr 
von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe was good enough to 
send me the information and handed me the 
money this morning. Now I think it only right 
to celebrate so important an event by a solemn 
act of feeding.” 

Otto had never heard his poet talk so reck¬ 
lessly and gaily; a quite boyish delight sparkled 
in his eager eyes which too often shone with a Me¬ 
dusa-like vindictiveness against society and its in¬ 
stitutions. 

“What!” said Salomon, raising his glass of 

- r ‘ ' y ' -V , > 


. V.* ' •_v - 'L*. ~ v • . 



THE WILL. 


253 


beer. “Three hundred marks on account? But, 
excuse my saying so, such a thing is unheard of! 
Besides — pardon my frankness — it is absolutely 
irrational! If your ‘Gracchus’ should be a failure 
— I know, I know, but the greatest masterpieces 
have been known to fail — it will not bring in 
three hundred marks! — And Leuthold, who is 
caution and close-fistedness personified! Do you 
mean to say that he has paid a perfectly unknown 
writer—do not take it ill — three hundred marks 
on account of his share of purely imaginary 
profits ? Those may understand it who can ! 
The golden age of literature seems to have dawned 
with a vengeance. Well, enough of that! I can 
only congratulate you on this stupendous event 
in a mighty draught!” And he emptied his glass 
to the last drop. 

“Thank you,” said Lund. “Luck is a man’s 
only friend; and I think you must admit that luck 
has not come to me prematurely. I have waited 
long enough for it.” 

“How do you like the baron?” asked Otto 
after a pause. 

“He is a genius!” cried Roderich enthusiasti¬ 
cally. “I have read ‘Gracchus’ through to him 
twice; the effect was immense.” 

“In what respect?” 


254 


THE WILL. 


“Well, he did not say a word; he sat, stricken 
dumb in his arm-chair, with his hands folded and 
his eyes closed, as if he were saying his pray¬ 
ers.” 

“Well, and what then?” said Salomon. 

“When I had done he rose and took my 
hand, and said with much emphasis: ‘Your Grac¬ 
chus will make its way.”’ 

“Slightly oracular!” observed the doctor. 

“On the contrary—very positive, as it struck 
me.” 

“Have you called often?” asked Otto. 

“Four times. The man has a way with him 
— I assure you no human being has ever mani¬ 
fested at all the same interest in me. He asks me 
about everything: my history, my family, my 
habits — my connections at home, and my ac¬ 
quaintances here in the city . . . The smallest de¬ 
tails seem to interest him. He even made me de¬ 
scribe my room and my fellow-lodgers. God 
knows my biographer in the future cannot be 
more exact.” 

“Indeed!” said Otto meditatively. 

“Well, well,” growled Salomon, “I only hope 
you may long live and flourish, a man among 
men, by the side of this magnificent patron. So 
far as I am concerned the gentleman does not 


THE WILL. 


255 


appeal to my sympathies ... A conservative, as 
he professes to be ... .” 

“What?” exclaimed the poet. “I am telling 
you a thousand things that go to prove his en¬ 
lightened Liberalism — and you assert . . . .” 

The entrance of the waiter, with the dinner 
ordered by Salomon and Wellner, put an end to 
the discussion; by the time the professor had 
laid down his fork and poured his fourth glass of 
beer down his throat, it was time to adjourn to 
Weidner’s Brewery. 

“Are not you coming?” he said to Lund. “To 
the Authors’ club meeting I mean.” 

“Not this evening,” laughed Roderich. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I cannot be present when my elec¬ 
tion is being officially debated. A few hours ago 
I made a formal application to the committee.” 

“Really! I am heartily glad to hear it; you 
shall have my whitest ball at once—but of that 
you were a priori certain. Well then, till we 
meet again a fortnight hence at Weidner’s, unless 
chance brings us together before then.” 

He pulled his hat low over his furrowed brow 
and quitted the room with Otto. 


V 


256 THE WILL. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

1 

When the two men entered the “Hall of the 
Gods” — as it was nicknamed — at Weidner’s 
Brewery, they found a party of twelve or fifteen 
already assembled; among them the president, 
Franz Keyser, and the editor of the “Glocke” who 
was seated on the left of that favorite author of 
archaeological romances. The “Hall of the Gods” 
a comfortably furnished room, was so named, not 
in flattering allusion to the worshipful company 
who, for nearly two decades, had met here, week 
after week; but by reason of two statues which 
sat perched on tall plinths on each side of a huge 
mirror. 

Salomon introduced the visitor to the presi¬ 
dent ; Doctor Keyser shook hands warmly with 
the editor of the “Encyclopedia,” but only bowed 
to Otto, with marked coolness. Then he sat down 
again, and drank a deep draught from the tankard 
presented to him by the club on his fiftieth birth¬ 
day. The president was extremely reserved in 
his manner even to Dr. Wolf, whose seat was al¬ 
ways next to his own. Otto remembered the 


THE WILL. 


257 


refusal with regard to “Melting Outlines.” Per¬ 
haps Doctor Keyser had taken it amiss. 

Doctor Salomon now introduced his friend to 
the rest of the gentlemen sitting round the table. 
Foremost of all sat Kurt Ewald, the “ Messiah of 
the German stage,” as Salomon had called him, 
his light hair combed with unfailing precision in a 
straight fringe over his forehead, dressed in black, 
just as Otto had seen him at Oberhorchheim, 
and wearing sleeve-buttons of such magnitude 
as cast the old ones quite into the shade. A re¬ 
pellent line, partly of ill-humor and partly of con¬ 
tempt, marked his chiselled lip; it gave the author 
of Sophonisba an expression of being constantly 
on the lookout for attacks from ignorant dullards 
who might feel inclined to regard Gutzkow’s 
“Uriel Acosta” as a more successful effort than 
Ewald’s unborn or still-born tragedies. And his 
crude, metallic voice had a critical snarl in it, even 
when he only gave an order to the waiter or dis¬ 
cussed the weather. 

“Of course, I forgot,” said Salomon, “you 
gentlemen have met before at Oberhorchheim — 
a mutual pleasure; we were speaking of it only to¬ 
day. Well twice sure — if so trivial an expression 
is not profane as applied to so great an occasion. 
Allow me— Herr Otto Wellner of Halldorf... .” 


Vol. 1. 


17 


258 


THE WILL. 


And he proceeded to name, in their order, the 
rest of the members of the club — names which, 
for the most part, Otto had never heard in his 
life before. 

The room was filling; by degrees about thirty 
men collected, who sat round the table, all drink¬ 
ing Weidner’s famous beer out of burly glasses. 
The rubicund countenance of Josef Kochansky, 
among others — he had come as a guest intro¬ 
duced by the editor of some minor paper—beamed 
over the tankard, while one of the versatile scriv¬ 
ener’s fat hands faithfully clasped the inseparable 
pocket-book with the metallic pencil, as if he 
expected at any moment to receive some liter¬ 
ary commission, either in the popular style of 
“ Mother’s Love,” or for a higher and more aca¬ 
demical class of readers. 

» 

At half-past eight the president rang his bell. 
“ Silentium , gentlemen !” roared Salomon, when 
its tinkle failed of its effect. The buzz of conver¬ 
sation sank and then ceased, but that Kurt Ewald, 
who must always assert himself, after all the rest 
were silent had a critical remark to make on “the 
everlasting debating ” which was now about to 
begin. 

The bell rang a second time; Doctor Franz 
Keyser pronounced the meeting opened ; he wel- 


THE WILL. 


259 


corned the guests in a short speech — there were 
two Danish authors present, besides Wellner and 
Kochansky — and then proceeded to dispose of 
the order of the day. The subjects under discus¬ 
sion were for the most part of domestic interest — 
arrangements for a Founder’s festival soon to be 
held; certain alterations in the by-laws; addresses 
from foreign societies, and other uninteresting 
matters. The president led the proceedings with 
a certain amount of tact, though the manner in 
which he now and then reprimanded a slight 
breach in the formal conduct of business betrayed 
some irritation. Once indeed, when Doctor Wil¬ 
libald Kiihner—a lengthy and excessively nervous 
private tutor — made a rather sharp reply, they 
were on the very verge of an indignant contest; 
this disaster was only averted by the intervention 
of Meyer von Buhl, the poet of the lion-beard, 
who was sitting next to Kiihner, and who coaxed 
him with paternal good-nature to hold his peace 
and drink his beer. 

But a fatal star was certainly in the ascendant; 
there was an atmosphere of misunderstanding and 
disharmony over all the proceedings. Even the 
voting as to the Founders’ festival gave rise to an 
unpleasant and long-winded discussion; then some 
of the members took offence because Kurt Ewald 


26 o 


THE WILL. 


moved an adjournment in somewhat sarcastic 
terms; this led to fresh arguments, misapprehen¬ 
sions and differences. 

The storm reached a climax when, after the 
order of the day was disposed of, Roderich 
Lund’s election became the subject of discussion. 
Doctor Keyser officially announced the poet’s 
candidature, and invited those of the members 
who were in a position to give the meeting any 
information about him to speak freely. Doctor 
Salomon was the first to meet the challenge. 

“ Gentlemen,” he began with parliamentary 
dignity, “ I believe that I am justified in warmly 
recommending the gentleman whose application 
has just been laid before you. I may honestly 
confess that I am not competent to pronounce an 
opinion on his literary talents; I have not read 
the works of Herr Roderich Lund; but I feel that 
I may, a priori , rate his merits as a poet very 
highly. Herr Lund is a man of academical cul¬ 
ture, with a broad apprehension of the great 
problems of the age. I have twice been so happy 
as to have an opportunity of convincing myself 
of this, for twice here, in our club, I have sat 
by his side at this table. I therefore am of opin¬ 
ion that Herr Roderich Lund will be a most 
acceptable acquisition to our Convivium” 


THE WILL. 


26l 


“ Herr Kurt Ewald speaks next,” said the 
president. 

“ Gentlemen,” began the poet of “ Sopho- 
nisba,” and he wrinkled up his low, befringed 
brow, “ I am of opinion that the words of my 
esteemed friend, who has just sat down, contain 
no real recommendation whatever. Even if Herr 
Lund is a pleasant and chatty companion, even if 
he could worthily imitate the professor’s example 
and keep time with him in the consumption of 
liquor, I cannot esteem that a sufficient reason for 
his being solemnly enrolled as a member of an 
association of literary men. Herr Doctor Salo¬ 
mon has told us that his candidate’s works are 
unknown to him ; well, gentlemen, we are all in 
the same predicament, from Alpha to Omega — 
Lund ! —who is Lund ? I always thought that a 
man must have done something before he could 
venture to knock at the door of our Society. I 
am bound to confess that Herr Lund only im¬ 
pressed me as an absolutely insignificant person. 
I sat at no great distance from him, and what I 
heard fall from his lips never rose above the level 
of commonplace. Let us be exclusive if we are 
anything ! The man whose ambition it is to be 
one of us must be really an author, must show us 
something in some degree worthy to be called 


262 


THE WILL. 


literature; he must have a name — not world- 
famous I grant, but still a name ! I shall there¬ 
fore register my vote against the election of Herr 
Roderich Lund.” 

Kurt Ewald’s confession of faith was inter¬ 
rupted several times by cries of “ hear, hear,” or 
of dissent. The president now invited Doctor 
Wolf to speak. 

“ I have only to rectify a slight error on the 
part of my friend, the last speaker,” said the soft 
tenor voice. Its tones fell on the reeking atmos¬ 
phere as though a whiff of air from a drawing¬ 
room had come into a tavern, so calm and finished 
were the speaker’s gesture and manner, so delicate 
and refined were his accent and language. — 
“ Gentlemen, I believe that our respected asso¬ 
ciate, Herr Ewald, has misapprehended the tenor 
of our constitution. The by-laws contain nothing 
that can be interpreted to imply that election can 
depend on any greater or lesser degree of literary 
distinction. . . .” 

“ Quite true !” — on all sides. 

“ And besides,” continued Doctor Wolf, with 
a subtle infusion of irony, “ whether a shrub be a 
few feet higher or lower, it must still remain a 
dwarf by the side of an ancestral oak; and so, 
gentlemen, I am of opinion that the shrubs will do 


THE WILL. 


263 


well to bear each other’s company, for only union 
can make them strong, and close array render 
them conspicuous. Thus, if there is nothing to 
be said against Herr Lund but that he is not a 
genius — well, I think we shall do well to beat 
our breasts in due humility and bid him enter.” 

These last remarks, as proceeding from one of 
the most gifted and successful writers in the 
society, on whom such humiliation sat but lightly, 
had a most irritating effect on many of the mem¬ 
bers, and especially on Doctor Keyser and ‘ the 
Messiah of the German stage.’ Doctor Keyser, 
however, controlled himself; but Kurt Ewald at 
once claimed the privilege of speaking again, and 
declared that Doctor Wolf’s expressions debased 
the club to the level of a refuge for the destitute— 
so much so that an author who had any self-re¬ 
spect must henceforth consider whether he could 
even continue to belong to such a society. So far 
as Herr Roderich Lund was concerned—who 
had amateurishness not to say cretinism written 
on his face — he could only reiterate his motion 
against his election, as nothing had as yet been 
said that could weigh at all in his favor. 

Otto Wellner now rose. 

“ I do not know, Mr. President,” he began 
with great modesty, “ whether the constitution of 


264 


THE WILL. 


your Society allows a visitor to make a few re¬ 
marks.” 

“Certainly, by all means !” said several voices. 
Doctor Keyser bit his lips and turned over his 
papers rather nervously. 

“ The case is not provided for by our by-laws,” 
he stammered, and he knit his brows. “ However, 
if the meeting is agreed. ...” 

“ Of course, no doubt about it,” cried several. 

“Very good; then as no one objects, our 
guest, Herr Wellner, is at liberty to address the 
meeting.” 

In his excitement Otto had drained his beer- 
glass to the last drop; now he began in a low 
voice which, however, grew firmer as he went on : 

“ I must first express my thanks to your 
Society for giving me the opportunity of speaking 
in favor of a man whom, during my short resi¬ 
dence in this capital, I have learnt to regard, not 
only as a man of very lovable qualities, but as a 
really eminently gifted poet. I can have no 
motive for desiring in any way to invalidate the 
supremacy of your Society, and I should have 
refrained from even expressing an opinion, if Herr 
Roderich Lund had simply been excluded by 
being black-balled. But since — so far as I can 
see — only one member considers him unworthy 



THE WILL. 


265 


of election, and that on the ground of personal 
antipathy, I cannot but believe that the Society 
will thank me for assuring them that I am well 
acquainted with a drama by Herr Lund, that in 
my opinion — which is of course not authorita¬ 
tive — that drama is one of the most remarkable 
literary productions of the last decade, and finally, 
that the word ‘ cretinism,’ used by Herr Ewald, is an 
insult which I, in my friend’s name, deeply resent.” 

He sat down; a vague murmur rose from the 
assembly. The young man’s resolute demeanor 
had made an impression, though it seemed doubt¬ 
ful for the present whether it were favorable or 
unfavorable. 

The president’s bell put an end to the little 
disturbance. Doctor Keyser felt himself com¬ 
pelled to remark that Herr Otto Wellner had 
expressed an opinion on matters relating so ex¬ 
clusively to the domestic affairs of the club that 
the criticism of a visitor could not affect them. He 
would call on Herr Kurt Ewald to speak next. 

Ewald rose with a smile of sovereign contempt 
on his thin lips, and the long, bony fingers of his 
right hand drummed lightly on the lid of his 
tankard, as though the whole business was far 
beneath the sublime heights of his Olympian dig¬ 
nity. He seconded the observation made by the 


266 


THE WILL. 


president; defended the use of the word “ cre¬ 
tinism ” as conveying only an objective, and 
perhaps a hyperbolical reflection, but in no degree 
an offensive one; and then expressed a doubt as 
to Wellner’s competency to judge of the merits of 
the most important tragedies brought out during 
the last ten years. He went on in measured tones : 

“ I must crave your patience yet a few minutes 
longer; I will be as brief as possible. — Gentle¬ 
men : I foresaw this discussion. Professor Salo¬ 
mon’s wish to introduce his candidate could not 
indeed be withstood. I made it, therefore, a point 
of conscience to make some enquiries into the 
social relations of Herr Roderich Lund. Accident 
led me to some very interesting discoveries; I will 
not dwell on accessory facts: one will suffice. 
Herr Roderich Lund is personally allied with the 
most flagrant members of the socialist agitation, 
and is, in a word,” — and here the poet’s voice 
grew ominously louder, “ an individual whose ac¬ 
quaintance is a discredit to any man calling him¬ 
self a gentleman. I reserved this statement, 
because I hoped to prevent Herr Lund’s election 
without making it; but his friend’s advocacy has 
driven me to it — and you know now what you 
have to reckon with.” 

Otto had started to his feet; with his clenched 


THE WILL. 267 

hand leaning on the table he fixed a piercing eye- 
on Ewald. 

“ I beg to be allowed to speak,” he said in a 
voice of thunder. But Keyser raised a deprecat¬ 
ing hand. It might mean prohibition or merely 
postponement of Otto’s reply. Otto accepted it 
as a postponement, and controlled himself by a 
strong effort, but it was a hard task to subdue his 
boiling blood. The fire of fanatical possession 
which had been kindled in him by Meynert’s hys¬ 
terical fervor was concentrated as if in the focus 
of a magnifying lens. “ What!” said he to him¬ 
self, “ shall this specimen of pompous ineptitude 
close the door on such a genius as Roderich 
Lund ? And that simpleton, with his fringe and 
his jewelled cuff-buttons, calls my friend a man 
whom it is a discredit to know ? And am I to 
listen and say nothing ?” 

He was firmly convinced at this instant of the 
reality of his devoted friendship for the author of 
“Gracchus,” though, as a matter of fact, they 
were not particularly intimate. Otto had been 
too much absorbed in his own feelings and vary¬ 
ing phases of mind for that. He was too much 
carried away by his latest impressions to consider 
with due calmness whether Ewald’s words were 
not, in fact, the outcome of a reasonable convic- 



268 


THE WILL. 


tion. He regarded Eleonora von Sunthelm’s 
eulogist as incapable of an opinion ; the adorer of 
such an odious woman roused his aversion, and 
he attributed Ewald’s antagonism to Lund to a 
base outburst of envy. It did not occur to him 
that Kurt Ewald thought far too well of himself to 
think of an unknown man like Roderick Lund as 
a conceivable rival. Besides, the author of Soph- 
onisba — setting aside his extravagant deference 
to the wishes of persons of aristocratic rank — was 
by no means a man of base impulses; on the con¬ 
trary, his mania for literary greatness was always 
subservient to the motto: “Noblesse oblige.” 
His vehement attack on the writer of “Gracchus ” 
had not been prompted by malice, but by the 
time-honored hatred of a conservative for a par¬ 
tisan of the revolutionary movement. 

Doctor Keyser felt himself called upon to cen¬ 
sure the form in which Herr Ewald had couched 
his objections and his information, though he en¬ 
tirely shared his opinions. A member of a party 
whose banner was flaunted in the face of all exist¬ 
ing institutions, could never, under any conditions, 
be allowed to cross the threshold of a literary and 
artistic society whose effort and progress were so 
inseparably allied with the healthy development 
of social order on a firm basis. 


THE WILL. 


269 


To this the editor of the “Glocke” replied 
that he made a distinction between theoretical so¬ 
cialism, which he laughed at, and practical social¬ 
ism, which he abominated. The former was a 
spectre, a vision, which haunted the brains of half- 
educated youth, but was, at bottom, as incoherent 
as the materialism of certain young chemists who, 
as soon as they had succeeded in turning a few 
strips of litmus-paper blue and red, believed they 
had solved the secrets of the universe. As to the 
point at issue, he entirely agreed in the views ex¬ 
pressed by the president. 

Still Otto Wellner had not gained a hearing. 
He listened to all these pros and cons with grow¬ 
ing irritation, for in his eyes, they had no bearing 
on the marrow of the matter; the insult, that is 
to say, that he had received from Ewald. The 
blood mounted to his temples as Ewald again 
rose to speak with the same repellent irony, and 
after a brief preface, addressed partly to the presi¬ 
dent and partly at Otto, asserted the right of 
every member of the club to call “ a spade a 
spade.” He must therefore maintain and abide 
by everything he had said with reference to Herr 
Roderich Lund. 

Every eye was now fixed on Otto ; the young 
man was quivering with anger. Had he not dis- 


270 


THE WILL. 


tinctly explained that Roderick Lund was his fel¬ 
low-lodger and his friend ? He saw Ewald’s words 
in the light, not merely of a coarse reflection on 
Lund, but of a personal and deliberate affront. 

“Gentlemen,” he said with forced calmness: 
“ In my opinion, an insulting comment on an ab¬ 
sent man — such as Herr Ewald has uttered and 
repeated — is a base and cowardly thing. With 
this observation I shall, for the present, take my 
leave of your honorable Society.” 

A tremendous hubbub at once broke out. 
Doctor Wolf shook his ambrosial curls with a look 
of regret; Professor Salomon shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders as much as to say : “ Boys, boys, where are 
your tact and breeding?” Doctor Keyset* tinkled 
his bell incessantly. 

Wellner was standing by the side table, set¬ 
tling his reckoning with the waiter. As he quitted 
the room, peace was so far restored that his ad¬ 
versary’s sharp voice was again audible. 

“ Does any one here happen to know that 
amiable gentleman’s address ?” asked Ewald with 
a fierce scowl. “ I had no wish to make our club 
the scene of the punishment the fellow so richly de¬ 
serves—but he shall have my answer to-morrow.” 

Otto was beside himself; he turned and came 
back to the table. 


THE WILL. 


271 


“ I am at your service,” he said struggling for 
breath. “ Here is my card.” 

In his rage he would have liked to fling a 
challenge in the teeth of the whole assembly. 
He could think of nothing better than to stand 
forth and proclaim that he, like Lund, was an ad¬ 
vocate of the programme of the Revolutionary 
party, and that he was prepared to support that 
programme — against any man — with his blood. 

“ So now, gentlemen,” he ended, “ now you 
know me ; and if anything I have said displeases 
either of you you can let me know ! Yours to 
command !” 

He pulled his hat over his brow with rude in¬ 
dignation and quitted the room. 

Salomon jumped up. 

“ This is preposterous !” he exclaimed as he 
thrust his arms into his overcoat. “ Meynert’s 
firebrand seems to have found fuel with a ven¬ 
geance. The man was excited to start with .... 
Why he is capable — I must be after him, at 
once. Do not take it amiss, friend Ewald, but 
you really are partly to blame for this unpleasant 
scene. Well, we must hope the affair can be ar¬ 
ranged !” 

“ Pray do not trouble yourself, my good 
friend !” said Kurt Ewald. 




272 


THE WILL. 


But the professor had rushed off; he overtook 
Otto, who was still tremulous with rage, at the 
corner of the next street. 

“ My dear Herr Wellner,” he exclaimed lay¬ 
ing his hand on Otto’s shoulder, “what is the 
meaning of this unpleasant dispute ! If the affair 
is not immediately arranged Herr Ewald will send 
a friend to call on you to-morrow morning, and 
you will be in the most awkward predicament. . 

“ How so ?” 

“ Well, one of two things : either you refuse 
the challenge . . . .” 

“ What are you thinking of?” 

“ I am only stating the alternatives. — Either 
you refuse the challenge — and nothing can be 
more disastrous — or else you accept it.” 

“ Do not be uneasy,” interrupted Otto, “ I will 
fight.” 

“Very good; that is the second alternative. 
But you must admit that it also has its disadvan¬ 
tages. Apart from the affair itself and its possible 
issue, do you really think that an ultra radical — 
for that is what you proclaimed yourself before 
the corona civium — can set up as the champion 
of Utopian visions — since that, after all, is the 
whole question in dispute—by means which are the 
extreme outcome of old world feudalism ? Your 


THE WILL. 


273 


acceptance of this challenge implies the recog¬ 
nition of a mediaeval tradition which, from your 
point of view, must be actually reprobate. You 
want to prove yourself an advocate of revolution, 
and you play the part of an aristocrat. The situ¬ 
ation is crucial! fatal to all logic! — Well, as I 
said, I can only hope the matter may be arranged. 
What was it that put you into such a tremendous 
passion ? After all, you are not married to 
Roderich Lund.— And besides — you will believe 
me when I say that I do not pander to conserva¬ 
tive reaction ; but your programme, as you call 
it! — Your nature is impressionable, your appre¬ 
hension quick and happy, but, between ourselves— 
and you must forgive my frankness — I do not 
think that your experience in politics and your 
knowledge of the working class are wide enough 
to enable you to form an adequate judgment of 
socialist doctrines and dogmas. The other even¬ 
ing, after Meynert’s speech, I endeavored in a few 
words to demonstrate the sophistry of his argu¬ 
ments — to my great regret you had gone away. 

“ But do you know it is half-past ten already. 
You are too excited to be left to yourself: I shall 
have you preaching rebellion in the open streets !— 
Come with me; I am not much in the mood for 
beer; my housekeeper brews first-rate grog, and 


Vol. T. 


iS 




274 


THE WILL. 


we will talk matters over and consider what I can 
do for you ... at any rate I am at your service as 
your second.” 

“ I am truly grateful and accept your kind 
offer. I am entirely without experience in such 
matters. ...” 

“ Well, well; we will hope it may not come to 
that. We will first calm our souls with grog. 
About midnight you shall put a copy of my prize 
treatise in your pocket, a rather thick pamphlet: 

‘ On the Errors of Socialism and the means of 
combating them.’ I flatter myself that will cool 
you down.” 

The worthy philosopher’s kindly geniality had, 
as usual, a soothing and clearing influence on 
Otto’s mood. He followed Salomon to his snug 
bachelor’s quarters, and meditatively drank a 
tumbler of punch brewed by the astonished 
housekeeper, who knew that the meetings of the 
Author’s club lasted, not unfrequently, till four or 
five in the morning. Then he promised to read 
the pamphlet from beginning to end, without 
prejudice and with due attention. 


THE WILL. 


275 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Three times had Frau Lersner knocked at 
Otto Wellner’s door, at intervals of a quarter of 
an hour, without waking the sleeper. It was not 
till the fourth time that he bestirred himself. He 
felt wearied and beaten. There was a grip at his 
heart that seemed almost physical — the impres¬ 
sion left perhaps by some wild and painful dream. 
He looked at his watch ; it was past ten. Outside, 
the sun was shining on the frosted roofs, and the 
sky was as blue as in May; but Otto had no eyes 
just now for the beauties of nature. He got up 
and dressed, vexed to find that it was so late. 
Just after the occurrences at the Author’s club he 
would have given anything rather than be un¬ 
punctual in his duties. 

As always happens when one starts thus 
handicapped, all sorts of accidents came to embit¬ 
ter his aggrieved mood. He upset an inkstand 
and stained his portfolio and table-cover; then, 
for a wonder, Frau Fersner kept him waiting for 
his breakfast; and then came a letter from Karl 
Theodor Heinzius, vexatious in its tenor, and 

18 * 




276 


THE WILL. 


doubly so at a moment when Otto had not time 
to read it with composure. It informed him that 
after a series of circumstances, which the worthy 
man related with the minutest detail, he had 
made up his mind to resign his position as teacher 
in the school at Halldorf. Finally Heinzius 
begged his friend’s forgiveness for never having 
alluded again, till now, to the subject of the sealed 
packet. In spite of the various worries of these 
few weeks he had often thought of that strange 
will, but he must frankly confess that he was no 
less puzzled and helpless in the matter than Otto 
himself. 

When he had read the twelve pages of the 
pedagogue’s letter Otto rushed down stairs in 
furious annoyance. On the first-floor landing, the 
darkest in the house, he met a clumsy, coarse- 
looking man who squeezed himself as close 
against the wall as he could; there was something 
strange in this singular attempt at evasion. 

“ Whom are you looking for here ?” asked 
Wellner going up to the man, and even as he 
spoke a wild spasm of rage boiled in his veins. . . 
he had recognized the sneaking ruffian. It was 
Ephraim Peltzer, the wretch who had insulted the 
fair Lucinda and revenged himself so meanly on 
her champion. 


THE WILL. 


277 


l ' Whom do you want?” repeated Otto taking 
the man by the breast of his coat. 

Peltzer gripped Otto’s wrist. 

“Am I bound to tell you ?” he growled surlily. 

Something in Peltzer’s touch, he knew not 
what, drove Otto to frenzy. He felt as though 
this man were the incarnation of all that was hate¬ 
ful on earth. In the same instant he had clutched 
the bully’s throat. 

“ I will not have a scoundrel like you lurking 
about the house,” he said hoarsely. “Answer me 
this minute or I fling you down stairs. Indeed, 
without waiting for that . . . .” 

“ Will you leave go ?” gasped Peltzer who 
was being strangled. “I am going to Fraulein 
Jakoby . . . .” 

Wellner let go, ashamed of his murderous 
fury. If Doctor Lehrbach, if Lucinda could have 
seen him in such a temper ! Ephraim Peltzer, 
who was strongly built, had only to defend him¬ 
self in earnest to give rise to an ugly scuffle, a low 
fight ! 

“ Fraulein Jakoby is not at home,” he said 
more calmly. “ Now take yourself off. I cannot 
imagine what she can want of you.” 

Peltzer shook himself free with a violent push, 
and ran down stairs like a wild cat. 


278 


THE WILL. 


“ Curse you !” he cried, “ but you shall hear of 
me again, and I will be even with you next time.” 

He got out of the house, clenching his fists 
and grinding his teeth. Otto stood still a minute, 
lost in thought; Peltzer’s accent was one of such 
vicious hatred that an uncomfortable shudder ran 
through the young man. However, he was per¬ 
haps a little nervous to-day ; it was absurd to let 
the impression of the moment affect him so 
strongly — it was his own stupid humor that 
weighed upon him. What was there hanging 
over him ? This senseless squabble with Herr 
Ewald — and the possible result! A bullet in 
his brain ! In this mad world, where the happi¬ 
ness of the individual was held of such small ac¬ 
count, was it worth while to be doleful over such 
a prospect ? 

“ Ridiculous !” he said to himself; and he 
went down stairs. 

When Otto reached the office he found the 
editor-in-chief in the midst of the edifying scenes 
of the visitor’s hour. Doctor Wolf greeted him 
with a kindly nod, and when he had disposed of 
his, for the most part aimless, clients he came 
slowly up to Otto’s desk. 

“ Well,” he said raising his brows, “ has Herr 
von Tyllichau been to see you ?” 


THE WILL. 


279 


“ Why should he ?” 

“ Oh ! I thought that was the cause of your 
being late. Your adversary took council of Herr 
von Tyllichau last night. The affair threatens to 
be serious.” 

Otto shrugged his shoulders. At this mo¬ 
ment Klaus, the messenger, brought in a card. 

“ For Herr Wellner,” he said with a grin; for 
he, of course, had heard of the dispute. 

Otto took the card and read : “ Eric, Baron 
von Tyllichau-Sassnitz, Lord of the Manor of 
Tyllichau-Sassnitz and Niederbuseck, Lieutenant 
of the Reserve.” 

He glanced enquiringly at his chief. 

“ Show the gentleman in by all means,” said 
Wolf, retiring to his own table. 

Herr von Tyllichau-Sassnitz came in with the 
solemn, not to say tragical air which a man of the 
world puts on when engaged in conducting an 
affair of the kind. He bowed gravely to both the 
gentlemen at once, and then turned ceremoniously 
to Wellner. 

“ I deeply regret being obliged to disturb you 
here,” he began in politely subdued tones, “ but I 
thought I should be most certain of finding you 
at your office ; and as the business which brings 
me admits of no delay . . . 


28 o 


THE WILL. 


Otto had risen as the baron came in and re¬ 
turned his bow with no less formality. 

“ You have come from Herr Kurt Ewald ?” 
he asked smoothly. 

“ In point of fact . . . .” 

“ I told Herr Ewald last evening that I was 
entirely at his orders. May I ask you to discuss 
all the particulars with Herr Professor Doctor 
Salomon, whom you will probably find over the 
way in his own study ? Doctor Salomon was 
good enough to undertake the affair on my be¬ 
half....” 

“ Thank you very much,” said Eric von Tyl- 
lichau bowing again. “ Then I have nothing 
further to detain you about. Pardon the intru¬ 
sion . . . 

And the baron withdrew, with that delightful 
chivalrous ease which Otto had already envied 
him in the garden of the Golden Anchor. 

In a minute or two he was seated in the en¬ 
cyclopedist’s work-room, and was submitting to 
his consideration Kurt Ewald’s challenge to Otto 
Wellner. 

In justice to the young baron it must be said 
that he was not one of those men who find a 
sportsman’s delight in fomenting the provocations 
to a duel. When he and Salomon had discussed 


THE WILL. 


28l 


the matter thoroughly they shook hands, promis¬ 
ing each other that before nightfall some arrange¬ 
ment should, if possible, be arrived at. Salomon 
suggested a compromise : Both the antagonists 
should retract and apologize for their words in 
the presence of the members at the next meeting 
of the club, and Ewald should take the initiative. 
Tyllichau required that Otto should be the first 
to recant, but Salomon stood out; at last however 
he pledged himself to do his best to persuade 
Wellner to accept these terms, provided of course, 
that Tyllichau would bring him the positive as¬ 
surance that Ewald would follow suit. If these 
efforts should fail they could still, at the last mo¬ 
ment, and on the ground fixed for the meeting — 
which was to take place next morning at ten — 
submit the question to the intervention of the um¬ 
pire. Herr von Tyllichau was prepared to name 
one for Salomon’s approval, a foreign officer, 
Lieutenant Clairvaux, the son of General Clair- 
vaux. Doctor Fohrenstedt would act as sur¬ 
geon in case of need ; this was all for the present. 

The baron took his leave and went off at once 
to Kurt Ewald, whom he found in a state of ex¬ 
treme nervous excitement. Wrapped in the am¬ 
ple folds of a grey silk dressing-gown, the poet 
of “ Sophonisba ” looked more like a suffering 


282 


THE WILL. 


patient than a man who is preparing to defy an 
adversary “at the pistol’s mouth.” Eric von Tyl- 
lichau was encouraged to hope that his proposals 
for mediation would fall on favorable soil. He 
was mistaken ; Kurt Ewald, excessively provoked, 
and chock-full of the vapor of his own importance, 
would not listen to them for an instant. The 
final alternative Eric laid before him, he regarded 
simply as a guarantee of his adversary’s coward¬ 
ice. However, he would have defied the veriest 
fire-eater, so deeply had delayed success soured 
his temper, and so bitterly did this heaven-in¬ 
spired genius hate everything that touched him too 
nearly. 

“ You have my last word,” he said twirling 
his cigarette in his thin fingers. “ I will teach the 
insolent upstart to dare to treat me as a coward 
and a sneak! My dear Tyllichau, I have not 
closed my eyes all night for sheer fury; I am 
quite worn out. So, for the present, a thousand 
thanks — and we meet again to-morrow. I will 
call for you punctually at ten.” 

Otto meanwhile was doing his day’s work with 
rigid apathy; he eat his lunch at half-past one in 
the restaurant close by, and then, as usual, took a 
turn in the park. As the clock struck three he 
went back to his desk, and at half-past six made 


THE WILL. 


283 


his way home. Since Von TylHchau’s visit the 
whole business with Kurt Ewald had been buried 
in silence. One thought only seemed burnt into 
his soul: This evening, being a Saturday, he 
would spend, for the first time after many weeks, 
in Lucinda’s drawing-room. He was more firmly 
resolved than ever not to avoid her enchantments, 
but on the contrary, to defy them as Odysseus 
defied the songs of the Syrens. An extraordi¬ 
nary piece of self-deception ! He believed that he 
was acting honestly, bravely, and prudently, while 
all the time, he was blindly following the impulse 
of his own insatiable desires. 

Otto was the first to arrive. He was half- 
ashamed of being so early, as though it must 
betray his secret to every one, and he colored as 
his kind patron received him. Doctor Lehrbach, 
with unfailing heartiness, led him to his wife who 
slowly rose from her seat. She was as fair as a 
goddess of beauty — in that heavenly white as 
usual, a rich velvet of faint cream-color, and spot¬ 
less frail camellias in her hair—and that bewitch¬ 
ing smile ! But, strange to say, that smile was not 
quite the same as usual. There was a suspicion 
of embarrassment in her lovely face, a shadow, 
an unaccountable something. Could she guess the 
turmoil in the young man’s breast ? Did she pity 


284 


THE WILL. 


him ? He asked for no pity ! “ A nineteenth 

century Werther !” was what he said to himself.— 
The thought was unendurable. 

“ You have not given us this pleasure for a 
long time,” said the lawyer; “ to be sure there are 
other and better amusements — the Author’s club 
for instance. . . 

“ Indeed !” murmured Otto. 

“ I have heard the whole story. I met some 
acquaintances this afternoon at the Cafe Bernburg. 
God knows what brought up the subject — how¬ 
ever, every one is talking about it, less out of in¬ 
terest on your behalf, as you are little known, 
than on your opponent’s. Kurt Ewald is, as you 
know, one of our jeuncsse dorec , though the gild¬ 
ing— so far as his exterior is concerned — is 
getting a little worn. Between ourselves, he is 
perfectly intolerable, and I am only too glad that 
he should for once have found his match. Only 
one thing puzzled and surprised me : every one 
says that your quarrel was on a question of poli¬ 
tics. Herr Wellner — so I was told in the divan— 
is an ardent social democrat, capable of anything; 
and he dared to accuse the son of one of our best 
families of cowardice because Herr Ewald thought 
proper to adhere to some conservative utterance.—- 
I laughed in the man’s face ; but then another 


THE WILL. 


285 


came in with the same story and a second and a 
third and a fourth ! It is certainly very odd, and 
you will be wise to clear up the misunderstanding 
at once.” 

Otto had not a word at command ; the idea 
that rumor had already branded him as a martyr 
to the cause of revolution, and had eliminated all 
the personal details of his quarrel, abashed and 
dismayed him. 

“You see,” Lehrbach went on, “the thing 
stands thus: I was speaking yesterday to Von 
Diiren ; the position you at present hold as sub¬ 
editor of the ‘ Glocke ’ is quite unworthy of your 
talents. Doctor Wolf says the same, and has 
made every effort to second my exertions. My 
father-in-law still hesitates for a variety of small 
reasons, but in reality he is not ill-disposed. You 
have every reasonable hope of finding yourself 
promoted after the New Year to the second place 
in the office. Your salary will not, indeed, be 
greatly raised, but your position on the paper will 
be greatly improved — and if Doctor Wolf should 
resign, which is exceedingly probable, as he has 
lately come into a good fortune and means to 
marry, your chances are of the very best.” 

“What ?” said Otto. “You have done all this 
for me — ? Oh, you overwhelm me with shame !” 



286 


THE WILL. 


“ Nonsense ! The whole trouble it has given 
me consists in two or three visits to my father-in- 
law — a man may surely do that for his friend. 
But, as I said before, I am afraid that if Herr von 
Diiren hears .... Well, even then I would go bail 
for the success of my plan ; still, it would be bet¬ 
ter to stifle the report.” 

Otto sighed, remembering the duel. In his 
pocket lay the note from Doctor Salomon which 
told him that all attempts at mediation were vain. 
What rumors would fill the air when the issue of 
that squabble became known — when he should 
have wounded the champion of the conservative 
faith, or when Ewald’s bullet had laid him low. 

Added to these unpleasant reflections he was 
in a divided state of mind that grew every moment 
more embarrassing. His speech: “You over¬ 
whelm me with shame,” had been no mere form 
of words. The extraordinary kindness heaped 
upon him by his friend was really oppressing him. 
This benefactor, this fatherly protector, whose 
house he frequented, not to show his gratitude 
and feed a flame of a pure regard, but to enjoy 
the consuming rapture of gazing at his enchant¬ 
ing wife. . . ! He felt crushed by the weight of an 
unpardonable crime. 

When, towards midnight, he returned to his 


THE WILL. 


287 


silent room, he felt more miserable and desperate 
than ever. Complications, hopeless chaos lay on 
every side. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

After his brief struggle with Wellner 
Ephraim Peltzer had made himself scarce with the 
utmost promptitude. He stopped under the door¬ 
way of a neighboring house to pull himself 
straight, for Otto had dealt roughly with his collar 
and buttons ; and any one who had known the 
man in former days would have wondered to see 
him so respectably dressed. In Gernsheim he had 
looked like a rough workman, wilfully indifferent 
to his appearance; but now he was a spruce and 
well-clad citizen. The necktie that Otto had 
pulled askew was of light-blue silk; his flowered 
waistcoat suggested suburban weddings and chris¬ 
tenings, his coat and hat were both new. It was 
evident at a glance that some great change for the 
better had come upon Ephraim Peltzer’s fortunes. 
Presently he emerged from the doorway and 
looked about him. 

“ Curse it all!” he growled between his teeth. 
“ Who the devil could have expected to find that 


288 


THE WILL. 


d-d fellow at home ? Everything else was as 

pat as you please ; the verse-scribbler at Sunt- 
helm’s, the counter-Miss at the shop earlier than 
usual, the others engaged away from home.— It is 
maddening!” 

For a few minutes he stood considering 
whether, now that Otto was gone, he should not 
return to the house and carry out his plans; but 
he decided that the risk was too great. Otto’s 
suspicions had been roused; the excuse of an ap¬ 
pointment with Adele Jakoby rested on too slight 
a basis. Nor was it impossible that Otto had 
only pretended to go to the office, and might sud¬ 
denly come up stairs just as Peltzer was setting to 
work ... In short, he judged it best simply to 
inform Baron Anastasius that he had failed on 
this occasion, and quote the proverb about a thing 
delayed not being lost. After all, there was no 
hurry. Who could tell whether if he had suc¬ 
ceeded, Herr von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe would 
have been as free with his sky-blue bank notes as 
he was before ? From that point of view Eph¬ 
raim Peltzer had, so far, no cause for dissatisfac¬ 
tion. Even if the matter slipped through his 
fingers, if he failed altogether in his present un¬ 
dertaking, by making good use now of his time 
and of the baron’s liberality, he might achieve a 



THE WILL. 


289 


grand project which he had been preparing for 
the last ten days with the wily persistency of a 
finished diplomatist. 

Thus, perfectly satisfied with himself, he 
walked on at a comfortable pace. In the market 
he stopped to buy a bunch of violets and stuck 
them in his button-hole with smug complacency. 

Although the butcher — if butcher he were — 
whose pocket-book Peltzer had appropriated, had 
entirely vanished — the theft had not even been 
advertised in the official police news — Peltzer’s 
guilty instincts led him to avoid the busiest streets; 
he made a long round to his destination: the 
residence of Baron von Sunthelm. As he pulled 
the bell Roderich Lund came out of the house, 
his face flushed with pleased excitement. That 
incredible manager of the theatre had again sent 
him a sum of money on account of his share in 
the profits of “ Gracchus,” and had declared him¬ 
self perfectly carried away by the dramatic power 
of the tragedy. The baron had added that un¬ 
fortunately the manager was overwhelmed with 
business of all kinds; but for that, the baron 
would long ere this have given himself the pleas¬ 
ure of making the poet and Leuthold personally 
acquainted. It seemed wiser, however, to wait a 
little while; . . . . the piece would be placed on 

Vol. /. *9 



290 


THE WILL. 


the stage before the end of the season without 
fail, and there would be no need for any long dis¬ 
cussion over it. 

Roderich, in his enthusiastic gratitude, was a 
bad psychologist; he took the baron’s word for 
gospel; his suspicions were not even roused by the 
mysterious conduct of the manager, who remained 
a veiled image in the temple of Thalia. Fired by 
the rapturous anticipations that thrill the nerves 
of a poet on the eve of certain success, he hurried 
through the streets aimless and radiant, smiling 
at every one, now and then attracting the atten¬ 
tion of the street-boys who imitated his walk and 
gestures, shouting out all sorts of remarks which 
Roderich, in his intoxication, never dreamed of 
applying to himself. No earth-born thought 
troubled the Olympian serenity of his soul; he 
had not the faintest inkling of the scene between 
Wellner and Ewald, of which he had been the 
cause. To his immediate apprehension, existence 
was summed up in the performance of his tragedy 
in the great theatre. 

Peltzer stared at him and grinned. “ A rum 
chap!” said he to himself: then, with a conde¬ 
scending nod to the porter, he went in. 

Peltzer had underrated the baron’s business- 
talents if he thought him likely to continue ad in - 


THE WILL. 


291 


finitum the allowance which for some few weeks 
he had been paying his tool. Just as a Chinese 
nobleman pays his physician as long as he is well, 
but stops the salary from the day when he is 
taken ill, so Anastasius explained that, for the 
future, he should not pay for lost days, but hand 
over a lump sum when Peltzer should have ac¬ 
complished the little service he had undertaken. 

“As I have already told you,” said the baron 
coolly in conclusion, “ I have no object in view 
but the satisfaction of a perfectly innocent curi¬ 
osity, a piece of impertinent indiscretion — con¬ 
nected, as I need not conceal, with a girl of 
humble rank. But the matter is not of such im¬ 
portance as to make me feel inclined to maintain 
a spy month after month. So you had better 
have the goodness to set to work with some de¬ 
gree of energy. If you succeed in abstracting the 
packet in question, intact, I will keep my word 
like a gentleman and pay down the sum agreed 
upon, on the spot. Till then, my friend, nothing 
more; absolutely nothing.” 

Peltzer left him. His irritation soon evap¬ 
orated. To-morrow would be Sunday; to-mor¬ 
row would very likely give him an opportunity of 
repairing his ill-fortune. Roderich, to be sure, 
always sat immovable at his desk on Sundays; 

19 * 


292 


THE WILL. 


however, that crazy verse-wright was the least to 
be feared of all the inhabitants of the house. 
Well — time would show. He patted his well- 
filled purse, pulled out a watch, and noting the 
hour, went into an eating-house where he treated 
himself handsomely. 

When it struck two he walked off southwards. 
Here among the high-gabled houses of the Fabri- 
ciustrasse, stood one of strange aspect. The first 
and second floors were occupied by old-clothes- 
dealers. Coats and paletots hung out of every 
window, and a mouldy vapor seemed to proceed 
from these squalid store-rooms. The whole street, 
indeed, was dull, dingy, and airless, and in the 
basement rooms quavering gas or smoky lamps 
were burning, even in broad daylight. On the 
ground-floor was a milk and coffee-shop. At the 
entrance, besides the sign, was a stamped leaden 
plate with the words: “ G. Schulze, pawnbroker; 
money lent on valuables of every description.” 
The pawnbroker and the milkman were one and 
the same person. 

Peltzer, after a moment’s hesitation, went 
straight into the coffee-room. Herr Schulze, a 
hunchback with closely-cropped hair and a very 
wrinkled face, was squatting on a turning-chair 
behind his counter. He looked up, and then re- 


THE WILL. 


293 


turned to his study of a cheap, penny-dreadful 
novel that lay in greasy fragments on the counter 
between butter and cheese. Peltzer crossed the 
yard to a house beyond, where he entered a dimly- 
lighted room. There, with a glass of evil-smell¬ 
ing spirits in his hand, sat a powerfully-built man, 
evidently in the last depths of destitution. His 
clothes were in tatters, his hair matted, his hands 
seemed stiff with dirt. 

“ At last!” he exclaimed, starting up, “ you 
were to have been here at half-past one.” 

“ Take it easy,” said Peltzer. “ But good God, 
man ! Bronner, what an object you are! I am 
almost ashamed that such a beggarly. ...” 

“Ashamed! You may well be ashamed,” in¬ 
terrupted Bronner. “No piper, no dance — no 
sheet, no bedclothes ! Where am I to get any¬ 
thing from, you chattering fool ? For the last ten 
days you have been trotting round the town with 
your nose in the air, like a dog scenting sausages. 
But all your snuffing does not fill my pocket, nor 
stay my stomach ! If those sneaks of police were 
not so close at my heels outside, I should have 
been off long ago. But as it is, I should be nabbed 
before I could turn round. I have had enough of 
this I can tell you. From the heap of straw in 
the garret down to this beastly hole — and up 


294 


THE WILL. 


again at night, that is my day’s amusement; 
Devil take it all I say!” 

“ Deuce take it, you do not suppose I am a 
conjuror,” said Peltzer crossly. “Here — here 
are twenty marks. That will buy you a blouse 
and a shirt; but have done with that everlasting 
tippling. If you ever get out again you will 
want a steady hand, and a head too that is not 
bamboozled and fuddled with bad spirits.” 

“ That is all very well,” said the man. “First 
find me a job; then you shall see if my hand is 
steady and my head clear.” 

“ Wait, I tell you, wait a bit!” 

“ Then you are sure that you will want the 
tools ?” 

“ I hope so. Your old partner will never leave 
us in the lurch now. He has made us pay dear 
enough !” 

“ No song no supper! You cannot expect 
him to risk his neck without getting something 
handsome by the job.” 

He tossed off the spirits, shook himself, and 
then, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he 
said: 

“ So far as I can see we are no for’arder to-day 
than we were last Monday.” 

“ For’arder ? Well I do not know. The plate 


THE WILL. 


-95 


is a secondary consideration for the present; it is 
as safe up at Lahnert’s as it would be in your mat¬ 
tress. Schulze is a sly fox and nothing can be 
proved against him, but the police might come on 
his tracks some fine day and take a fancy to look 
into his cupboards. Now Lahnert, a man of 
business. . . In short the thing is as good as done; 
but till I have come finally to terms with the 
girl. . . ” 

“What?” interrupted Bronner, “I thought all 
that was settled !” 

“ To a certain point it is. She is beginning to 
understand, and though she had not actually said 
‘yes,’ I see the thing is dawning on her, as you 
may say. ...” 

“ A pack of nonsense — neither fish, flesh, nor 
fowl. . . .” 

“ Quite the contrary. Only I must be cautious. 
At first she would have nothing to say to me, 
treated it all as a joke; then, by degrees, I went 
a little further. I got to know her better and 
spoke more seriously. But as to a definite agree¬ 
ment— the Devil’s in it, I must have time.” 

“ The only wonder to me is that you have 
come round the little toad at all. I know her of 
old — a spoilt hussy and full of her airs. Besides, 
between ourselves, Peltzer, you are not a handsome 


296 


THE WILL. 


dog though you have taken to rigging yourself out 
lately like a Bavarian Whitsuntide ox.” 

“ All a.matter of taste,” said Ephraim, shrug¬ 
ging his shoulders. “ And at any rate I have 
made it clear that I know how to come round a 
pretty girl. At first, I never even thought of 
spying and watching; I went to call just like the 
rest of the danglers, and it was quite by accident 
that we first began to talk about the house and 
some good opportunity. God knows I was as in¬ 
nocent as a babe ! The pretty little puss took my 
fancy, and as I happened to be up in the world, 
said I to myself: ‘You may have a fling.’ So I 
turned on some Champagne — and didn’t she take 
to it kindly. . . .” 

“ I know; you told me. As to how much of 
it was true. . . .” 

“You may believe just as much as you like 
but don’t bother me with cross-questions.” 

“ What questions have I asked you, gaby ? I 
only said that I was astonished to think that the 
bewitching Fanny could be so far gone on you, of 
all men. It can only have been for your money, 
and now perhaps the splendid business you are 
going to set up.” 

“ It is all the same to me. Do you suppose 
that any woman thinks first of kissing and cooing? 


THE WILL. 


297 


Not a bit of it! — they want to be treated and 
made much of, to get lots of finery and lead a jolly 
life; and the man who takes care to meet them 
half-way in these things pleases them better than 
any milksop beauty. Well, in short, I brought 
her round — she is still a little shy of giving us 
her personal assistance, but she blabs all she 
knows whenever I ask her. She is a born spy; I 
know the ways of all the house, from the old man 
down to the kitchen-maid ; and only from her de¬ 
scriptions I know my way all over the place, as if 
I had been there a hundred times.” 

“ Where do you talk to her ?” 

“In the garden, of evenings; at this time of 
year it is as quiet as the grave. The great gate 
opens into the Wallstrasse, and by ten o’clock 
there is not a soul passing. She lets me in, and 
for twenty minutes or more — according to cir¬ 
cumstances— we wander up and down the broad 
walk.” 

“ Not a bad way of spending the time neither; 
the little hussy is devilish pretty.” 

“ So I think. — I tell you what; if everything 
turns out well. ...” 

“Well ?” 

“ I shall take her with me. What do you say 
to that ?” 


298 


THE WILL. 


' “ And marry her ?” 

“If I must — why not?” 

“ Hm. If she sticks by you. ...” 

“ Oh ! I am not afraid !” said Ephraim, with a 
complacent laugh. 

“ Well, it is not so sure. Do not trust her fur¬ 
ther than you can see her. Three years ago, be¬ 
fore I ever saw you, we called her the ‘Witch’ down 
at the Corsohalle, because she was everywhere at 
once, and always had half a dozen chaps at her 
heels. She was not more than sixteen then, and 
she has learnt a good deal in three years. ...” 

Ephraim Peltzer stood meditative. 

“ By Heaven !” he exclaimed : “ You are right 
there; it is wonderful what a lot she knows; and 
laughs at every one. That reminds me — a week 
or two ago I caught her one evening, about eight, 
on the Schiller bridge — she was chattering and 
rattling and giggling — it was like a mill-wheel. 
Guess who it was she had hold of there at her 
apron-string.” 

“ How the devil should I guess ?” 

“ Mark you, I believe it was all fair play on 
her side. It is her nature to lark and flirt, and 
she never thinks twice about it. But I was sur¬ 
prised to see him, for I thought he had no time 
to go jigging after the girls.” 


THE WILL. 


299 


“ But who was it then ?” 

“ Meynert.” 

“ What! That jawing idiot ?” 

“ Look out, and have the goodness to keep 
your hard names to yourself. There are plenty 
of idiots among his followers I grant you ; but 
Meynert.— Heaven and Earth! He has taught the 
gentry to call a spade a spade !” 

“ All words!” replied Bronner. “ He is no 
good, for all his jaw, and fine talk never filled a 
hungry man. I hate the whole windy crew of 
them. They go about bewailing the hardships of 
the working-man, robbed of his rights, while they 
put up at the best hotels and eat and drink like a 
king on Sunday ! It is just thrashing straw.” 

“Well, I am not in the humor myself to speak 
up for Meynert, for I was not best pleased to see 
him holding the girl’s hand and smirking in her 
face — desperately in love with her, I should say. 
Fanny explained it, to be sure, that same evening; 
Meynert, it seems, is a near relation of hers, so 
there was not much in it after all.” 

“ Bless me ! you seem to be very far gone 
over the little minx.” 

“ Pooh ! what do you mean by that ?” 

“ At any rate, Meynert is married.” 

“ Indeed ! I did not know it.” 


3oo 


THE WILL. 


“ Oh yes ! to a very good, hard-working wife 

— and he has five or six children.” 

“So much the better. I shall see Fanny this 
evening and I will drop a hint as to the wife and 
six children.” 

Peltzer rose. 

“ Stop a bit,” whispered Bronner. “ How 
much do you think this business will bring us 
when all is said and done ?” 

“More than you might think. Not so much 
in hard cash, of course; that is in the strong 
room at the office and there is not the slightest 
chance there. — But the diamonds alone are a 
perfect fortune — so Fanny tells me — and a hun¬ 
dred thousand or so in securities.” 

Bronner was meditating. 

“ I tell you what,” he began after a pause: 
“ If you could find out how the safe is constructed 

— on what principle I mean; so much depends 
on that. Just ask how the safe is fixed and se¬ 
cured . . . .” 

“ The safe ?” 

“Yes, the strong-box or cupboard in which 
the valuables are kept.— Did you never see a 
proper safe ?” 

“ Never !” 

“ Stupid ! — Well, one thing is very clear, we 


THE WILL. 


301 

must prepare for accidents. Above all, don’t miss 
a good opportunity.” 

“ It is sure to come, sooner or later . . . .” 

“ Sooner, let us hope. I cannot hold out 
much longer in this wretched sty. Anything 
rather than that.” 

“ I will do my best. However, when once you 
have got the pot on you are sure to eat the stew 
at last. Have patience, and above all keep your 
tongue from wagging. I do not half trust that 
fellow Schulze.— Even if he only tries to squeeze 
us for the sake of a few thalers more in his own 
pocket,— still it will be better to keep him in the 
dark. Let him believe that I am your kind 
cousin and mean to pull you through under the 
very nose of the detectives. Anything more than 
that is best let alone. And look here, do not 
soak too much ; drink is the very devil !” 

“ Never you fear,” said the other. “ Look 
out for yourself, you flashy Don Juan ! — Lree 
to go out in the sun and air—a good meal—and a 
gossip with Miss Lanny at night! Ah well, I 
will be even with you, if I only get out of this 
hole.” 


302 


THE WILL. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

It was still dark when Otto started into wake¬ 
fulness that Sunday morning, from a strange, un¬ 
canny dream. He was at the place of meeting in 
the pale moonlight; suddenly Kurt Ewald, as he 
stood opposite to him, became a formless wreath 
of mist, a cloud-image through which his bullets 
passed without any effect. This fruitless struggle 
with an unnatural shape drove him to desperation 
— at last the pistol burst in his hand ; with a cry 
of rage and pain he woke. 

The nervous irritation left by his dream pre¬ 
vented his sleeping any more. For above an 
hour he tossed restlessly on his bed ; then -he 
struck a light. It was a quarter past five. He 
got up and put a match to the little heap of shav¬ 
ings which lay ready in the iron stove. The 
wood crackled and blazed, giving the room an ap¬ 
pearance, at least, of comfort. It was bitterly 
cold; Otto threw on his greatcoat and curled 
himself into a corner of the sofa. His eye fell on 
Salomon’s pamphlet. The title on the outside 
was printed in tall thin letters and under the in¬ 
fluence of his dream they suggested the long- 


THE WILL. 


303 


drawn misty figure of Ewald. Thoroughly un¬ 
nerved, he took up the pamphlet and turned over 
the pages. A passage caught his eye by the sin¬ 
gularity of its arrangement in type ; he read it, 
was surprised and interested, and tore open some 
of the following pages with a lead-pencil. 

He felt tempted to study the “ logical fallacies 
of socialism ” with more attention, and taking out 
his pocket-knife he cut the whole of the pamphlet; 
then he drew the lamp close to him and proceeded 
to read. 

The professor’s article was by no means an 
original creation; but, though he was not one of 
the pioneers of his science, he was a worthy and 
competent exponent of its principles and present 
stand-point. His work was free from the bitterness 
which too often brings the discussion of a burning 
social question down to the level of vituperation ; 
he pointed out, with academical rigor and irre¬ 
fragable logic, where the fallacies of social democ¬ 
racy lay: namely, in the misapprehension of 
certain empirical facts, in calculating from imagi¬ 
nary factors, in the assumption of purely factitious 
psychological and social conditions, which never 
really existed and never could exist. 

For the first time in his life Otto here found a 
great problem — which he had hitherto conceived 


304 


THE WILL. 


of merely as a struggle between contending forces 
of Will and Desire — discussed with unprejudiced 
fulness, sine ira et studio , solely from the point of 
view of a scientific enquirer who seeks the truth 
and nothing but the truth. The socialist theory 
was simply checkmated by the writer’s compre¬ 
hensive mastery of historical and philosophical 
facts and of political economy as a science. 

Otto read on. The blackness of a foggy No¬ 
vember morning began to yield to day before he 
laid down the pamphlet, his face tingling with ex¬ 
citement. His brief studies had sufficed to throw 
cold water on the fire of an enthusiasm which 
would have burnt itself out ere now but for the 
attitude forced upon him by Ewald. Otto was 
cured of his boyish eruption of Utopianism ; all 
that was left of it was an oppressive sense of the 
tragi-comic aspect of the situation. 

The situation was in fact tragi-comic enough. 

Supposing it were possible now to avoid the 
meeting with Ewald, Otto could not doubt as to 
what interpretation the world would put upon his 
conduct. After all that had been said and done 
it was, very naturally, supposed that Wellner had 
taken up the quarrel as a champion of the revo¬ 
lutionary party. And though this view of the 
matter was erroneous from the first, now that Otto 


THE WILL. 


305 


had been so effectually convinced of the hollow¬ 
ness and futility of these dreams of social equality, 
its falsity seemed quite preposterous. 

He sat a very long time, his burning face 
buried in his hands, till the feeble lamp was begin¬ 
ning to die out. He extinguished it, for broad day 
looked in through the frosted panes. 

At eight his landlady brought him his break¬ 
fast ; he forced himself to eat a few mouthfuls. 
He had quite fallen out with himself; he put 
himself under the ban, as it were, of ineptitude 
and illogical obtuseness. 

Fritz Prohle, who knocked at his door at half¬ 
past eight, came at a bad moment. Otto was not 
in the humor to feel any sympathy with other 
folks. He hardly offered the type-founder a seat. 
Prohle, to be sure, took one all the same, and al¬ 
lowed nothing to check the flow of his confi¬ 
dences — his sorrows and his hopes. Otto yawned 
and groaned ; Prohle’s long story was in fact of 
no immediate interest to him. Adele, and again 
Adele — her silvery laugh, how pretty she had 
looked when she went to the concert with Frau 
Lersner and Emma, in her fawn-colored dress with 
a plaid trimming and her splendid hair, and a 
gold cross round her neck . . . After the paean 
came the usual elegy: She was far above him, 


Vol. /. 


30 


3°6 


THE WILL. 


much too handsome ... he a.simple workman with 
heavy fists and clumsy manners.—It was miserable 
work ! . . . Then, melting melancholy gave birth to 
suspicion and jealousy. Who had given her that 
gold cross ? How had she come by it ? She could 
hardly have bought it; it must have cost forty or 
fifty marks. Oh yes ! he had asked her.— “ A 
present from Herr Toussaint — a reward for good 
conduct to the best saleswoman.”—Pooh ! He was 
not going to be taken in by that. Those might 
believe it that chose; he, Prohle, knew better. 
The head of a house of business did not sow 
prizes broadcast; there must be something at the 
bottom of it. — Presently his growling turned to 
wrath : only yesterday, quite by accident, he 
had discovered the scoundrel who had taken 
Adele to the play that night ... It was the very 
man who had followed Herr Wellner home — of 
course it had been on account of Adele! An old 
baboon, a hoary villain ! Was he not ashamed to 
risk the good name of an inexperienced girl ? 

Otto’s attention was roused. Anastasius von 
Sunthelm seemed suddenly to have set his heart 
on scraping acquaintance with the whole house¬ 
hold : first Otto, then Roderich and Adele and 
now, through Adele, the type-founder, were all 
beginning to regard the baron as a sort of petty 


THE WILL. 


307 


providence, ruling their various lots, now as a 
friend and now as a foe. Then Otto remembered 
Peltzer’s visit. He was on the point of asking 
Prohle whether the rascal had again attempted to 
get speech of Adele; but then, considering his 
companion’s excited feelings, he thought it wiser 
perhaps to say nothing. 

“It was he, was it!” he exclaimed. “Well, 
and how did it come about ?” 

“ Exactly as before, only the street was rather 
more out of the way and the old sinner more in 
love than ever. And I can tell you, if I did not 
knock him down it was for two simple reasons ; 
first my heart beat too fast, and then, when I had 
made up my mind and got my fists ready for the 
vermin, they vanished — disappeared into a house 
so quickly and unexpectedly that I had only time 
to rush after them, and hear a bell ring up-stairs 
and a door open and shut.” 

“ That makes it all clear.” 

“ So it seemed to me. I can tell you, Herr 
Wellner, I was thunder-struck — I stood helpless; 
and then when I thought to myself that this was 
the scoundrel’s house, that he had taken her with 
him, and she had consented — Heaven and Hell ! 
I turned quite sick. I had to lean against the wall, 
or I should have tumbled down like a felled ox. 


so * 


3°8 


THE WILL. 


But presently I came round, and then I found 
that matters were not quite so desperate. I looked 
at the door, and still half dizzy, I read: ‘ Marianne, 
Widow Tharow!’ ” 

“ Tharow ?” 

“Yes—Widow Tharow. Well, thank God, 
said I to myself, there is some one living here be¬ 
sides the man himself; but presently another idea 
struck me: the old ape looks like a bachelor — 
perhaps he lodges with this Widow Tharow. 
And then it would come to the same thing . . . .” 

“ No, no; you are mistaken,” interrupted 
Otto. “ I know your man. He is married and 
lives in the Heiligenthurmstrasse.” 

“ What, you know him personally ? Thank 
God for that!— But where and how ?” 

“ I have met him at Herr von Diiren’s.” 

“ Indeed ! And what is his name ?” 

“ Sunthelm. Baron Anastasius von Sunthelm- 
Hiddensoe.” 

“ A nobleman — a man rolling in gold ! And 
such an old scoundrel!— It is impossible — Frau- 
lein Jakoby must be making a fool of him.— Sunt¬ 
helm ; well, I am glad to know his name at any 
rate.— I will make you stare yet, Baron Anas¬ 
tasius von Sunthelm !” 

“ Do not be rash.” 


THE WILL. 


309 


“ Never fear. I will only tell him, in a friendly 
way — and if he does not clear out of the way, 
but still carries on his bedevilments . . . .” 

“ What then ?” 

“ Why, I will break every bone in his 
body !” 

“ I advise you not,” said Otto. “ And what 
was the end of your adventure.” 

“ That was about the end of it. I stood on 
the stairs a few minutes thinking, and wishing I 
only knew what kind of woman this Widow 
Tharow might be. A maid-servant came up the 
stairs, so I put on an air and the girl was civil 
enough, and I found out that this Tharow is a 
woman of good means, living at her ease and see- 
ing a good deal of company, and a jolly kind of 
company too it would seem — acting, and danc¬ 
ing and champagne suppers — what more would 
you have ? Officers too, it seems, are plenty at 
Widow Tharow’s, only they don’t come in uni¬ 
form.— She had plenty to say for herself; but as 
she had only been in the place a week or two she 
knew no details ; however, it was a comfort to 
hear that Frau Tharow did not let lodgings . ...” 

A loud knock at the door interrupted the nar¬ 
rative and Doctor Salomon came in ; Prohle stam¬ 
mered out an apology, and retired. 



3 io 


THE WILL. 


“ Well ?” said Salomon shaking hands with 
his young friend : “Are you ready ?” 

“ Quite. But it is much too early.” 

“ Early ? There is no such thing as too early 
on these occasions. Take my word for it, the 
greatest mistake a man can make when he is 
going to fight a duel, is to be later in the field 
than his adversary. It gives the other a moral 
superiority. He has had the advantage of study¬ 
ing the ground and the neighborhood, without 
the fatal sense of having a man opposite to him 
who is watching every movement and studying 
his face. He has had time to collect himself, and 
bring all his nerves to the sticking point. The 
other has lost the chance. The man who is on 
the ground first is at home ; the second is a 
stranger ; he is not at his ease, and in most cases 
comes off worst. Well ! enough of that. The 
carriage is at the door; if you have nothing par¬ 
ticular to do ... .” 

“Nothing,” said Otto buttoning up his over¬ 
coat. “ But stay — may I ask you to do me a 
favor ?” 

“ You have only to speak.” 

Otto took out a key and opened the top 
drawer of his wardrobe. 

“Here,” he said, pointing to the yellowish 


THE WILL. 


311 

packet, which lay in front among a heap of papers 
and notes, “ that wrapper contains a mysterious 
will made by my deceased father — I cannot now 
stop to explain the contents.— No one here but 
Roderich Lund knows of its existence; he came 
in one evening when I was copying the instruc¬ 
tions on the envelope to send to my friend and 
master, Heinzius, at Halldorf, and so it happened 
that I told him about it ... . This packet I 
earnestly entreat you, Herr Professor, in the event 
of my death, to burn immediately, unopened. I 
believe that I shall thus carry out my father’s in¬ 
tentions, and that is my first object, even though 
I do not understand his reasons.” 

“ I regard your instructions merely as an act 
of superfluous forethought,” said Salomon. “How¬ 
ever, if you wish to proceed with legal accuracy, 
you will give me your commission in writing. A 
few lines, left in the same drawer and designated 
as your last Will, is sufficient.” 

“You are right,” said Otto. 

He took a sheet of note paper and wrote a 
few hasty lines. Just as he had folded it and put 
it in an envelope, a piercing cry rang through the 
passage with a loud noise of thumping and crash¬ 
ing. Otto, who had his hat on, rushed out, fol¬ 
lowed by the professor. 


312 


THE WILL. 


In front of a large oak cupboard in the further 
corner of the landing, Frau Lersner was lying 
senseless on the floor. Some boxes and cases 
which had stood on the top of it for years had 
been shaken by the opening of the heavy door ; 
the two top ones had come tumbling down — and 
the catastrophe was evident. 

Wellner and Salomon tried to lift the uncon¬ 
scious woman. In a few minutes they were 
joined by Emma, as pale as death but quite col¬ 
lected ; she lost no time in useless lamentations, 
but acted with prompt decision. Prohle was sent 
off to fetch a doctor; then, with the help of Otto 
and the professor, she laid her mother on the old 
sofa in the sitting-room. She felt her head with 
a trembling hand; there was no external injury, 
the thick plait of her back hair must have served 
as a protection ; but her rigid unconsciousness was 
all the more alarming. 

Salomon tried to comfort and encourage the 
agitated girl. Otto leaned in silence against the 
window bar. 

In about five minutes Prohle came rushing up 
the stairs: “He is coming!” he said, out of 
breath. , 

“ Herr Prohle,” said Otto, looking at his 
watch, “ I have an appointment that cannot be 


THE WILL. 


313 


put off. May I count positively on your remain¬ 
ing at your post ? I mean on your not leaving 
Fraulein Emma alone for an instant ? Where are 
Roderich and Fraulein Jakoby?” 

Prohle solemnly promised that he would stay 
with Emma. Roderich was still sound asleep ; 
Adele was gone to the shop — but Otto need not 
be uneasy. 

“Very good/’ said Otto, turning to Salomon. 
“Then we will be off” He went, still speechless, 
up to Emma Lersner, and pressed her hand. 

A stir was making itself heard in Lund’s room, 
so Otto and Salomon hurried off, fearing that the 
poet’s advent might lead to further delay. 

“ It is five minutes to ten,” observed Otto as 
the carriage drove off. “ We shall not be the first 
on the ground now, that is quite certain; and by 
your theory of duelling I am condemned to death.” 

“Pooh!” growled the philosopher, “you go 
into extremes. Besides — that clock says a minute 
past ten ; make haste, coachman. Punctuality is 
the virtue of others besides kings. Of course we 
have ample excuse — it is a sad business really; 
we must hope it may not prove serious .... A 
capital girl that Emma, so quiet, so full of presence 
of mind,— a perfect Spartan,— and with a sweet 
face too of her own, half Madonna, half Venus.. 


3 H 


THE WILL. 


“ Do you think so ?” said Otto absently. Sud¬ 
denly he started forward. 

“ In all that confusion I forgot to lock my 
drawer and bring away the key. Coachman !” 

“ Why, you surely will not turn back ?” 

“ Why not ? A few minutes more or less 
cannot matter now. It would be too disas¬ 
trous . . . .” 

“ But my dear fellow, who on earth is likely 
to go to your drawer ? Only Lund knows any¬ 
thing about it, the others are all busy with Frau 
Lersner, and there is not another soul in the 
house.” 

“ But yet . . . .” 

“ Do not be absurd.— Drive on coachman.— 
No, no, I positively will not hear of it ! we should 
lose at least twenty minutes.” 

Otto gave way; but a painful misgiving op¬ 
pressed his heart, like the anxiety of a mother 
who knows she has left her child uncared for. 

The ground selected for the duel was a clear¬ 
ing in the rather extensive wood lying just be¬ 
yond the last houses on the western side of the 
city, an unfrequented place. Otto and Salomon 
found all the others assembled, as they had fore¬ 
seen. At a short distance Ewald’s smart carriage 
was visible through the leafless brushwood, and 


TIIE WILL. 


3 1 5 

Ewald himself, as the two men came near, made 
a display of pulling out his watch. Salomon made 
their apologies and explained the reason of their 
unpunctuality; Eric von Tyllichau and Doctor 
Fohrenstedt replied in polite terms. Then Tyl¬ 
lichau took Salomon aside. 

“Well?” he said, “How have you settled 
matters 

“ Nothing new. My friend Wellner is pre¬ 
pared to withdraw his observations as soon as his 
antagonist . . . .” 

“ Of that I am sorry to say there is no hope. 
I have said and done everything I could think of 
to mollify Herr Ewald’s mood ; in vain. He will 
only consent if Herr Wellner retracts first . . . .” 

“ But allow me.— All the laws of logic ....”’ 

“ They count for nothing in matters of senti¬ 
ment/’ interrupted Tyllichau. “ I admit that you 
are in your rights — but what is the good of that? 
Kurt Ewald seems to have taken it into his head 
to establish a precedent. He is an irreconcilable 
foe to the socialist movement, and he looks on 
this meeting as a judgment from Heaven 

“ But it is absurd! Pistols, as the ultima 
ratio in a political difference ! Wellner himself, 
it is true.— Well, enough of that. I still am of 


THE WILL. 


316 

opinion that, in accordance with our agreement, 
we ought to make a last effort.” 

“ By all means — for form’s sake. Will you 
speak to the umpire.” 

Otto had not stirred or spoken ; with his 
arms folded across his breast, he stood studying 
his opponent with a dejected gaze. Ewald, about 
twenty paces off, was leaning against a beech- 
tree ; the cold-blooded fixity of his impassive 
countenance stirred Otto’s gall: Did this man 
think him so ridiculously incapable ? 

The umpire, Lieutenant Clairvaux,- now came 
forward with Tyllichau and Salomon. He bowed 
with cool courtesy to the two principals; he ex¬ 
plained that, after a further conference with the 
two seconds, he had convinced himself that this 
unfortunate affair might, even now, at the eleventh 
hour, be amicably arranged. As it was always 
most painful to a man of sensitive honor to be 
held the aggressor in a dispute, he and the seconds 
had agreed on a mode of compromise which, as 
he hoped, would obviate this difficulty. The two 
gentlemen should both at once express their re¬ 
grets for what had passed by simultaneously an¬ 
swering “ Yes ” to a question framed to that effect 
and put to them by the umpire. It was perhaps 
not a very conventional proceeding, but it involved 


THE WILL. 


317 


no humiliation or evasion of the strict code of 
honor. Salomon addressed Wellner and Tyllichau 
went to Ewald to do their utmost to induce their 
acceptance of this suggestion. Otto, who had no 
mind to fight, would certainly have agreed at 
once but that he happened to catch sight of the 
bitterly ironical smile that came and went on Kurt 
Ewald’s lips like a Will-o’-the-wisp over a bog; 
this smile drove him to frenzy. 

“ It is for the aggressor to make overtures 
of reconciliation,” he said with a shrug, “ and 
not the person aggrieved. I positively refuse 
to accede to Lieutenant Clairvaux’s compro¬ 
mise.” 

“ But you do not understand,” said Salomon 
desperately. “Which is the aggressor and which 
the aggrieved ? That is the whole question.” 

Kurt Ewald’s voice interrupted the discussion : 
“ Come, gentlemen, we are losing time,” he said 
impatiently: “ We have been waiting five and 
twenty minutes already, and with four degrees of 
frost that is not altogether pleasant. I must re¬ 
quest the umpire to proceed to business.” 

Eric von Tyllichau retired. The weapons were 
produced, and the opponents took their stand at 
the usual distance of twenty paces apart. They 
were to fire three times. The umpire counted to 


3i» 


THE WILL. 


fifty. The two pistols went off precisely together 
and Otto dropped as if struck by lightning. 

Ewald turned pale. His victim had fallen back¬ 
wards on the frosted moss, his face bathed in a 
stream of blood. Fohrenstedt proceeded at once 
to examine his wound which was an ugly, gaping 
one. To the bystanders it looked as though the 
bullet had entered the forehead at the temple and 
was now lodged in the brain ; the doctor however 
explained that no mischief was done beyond a 
slight fracture of the bone ; the bullet had glanced 
off, and, by a singular irony of fate, the wound lay 
exactly below the scar which the young man owed 
to Peltzer’s cowardly attack. 

“You may be quite easy,” said Fohrenstedt to 
Ewald, who came forward biting his lips. “A 
hair’s breadth to the left and it would have been 
serious. As it is — there, he is opening his eyes 
already.” 

In such a bitter temperature, it was impera¬ 
tively necessary to get Otto home as soon as pos¬ 
sible. 

“How are you feeling?” asked the surgeon 
when Wellner was safely seated in the carriage. 

“ Dizzy and confused. Everything seems 
turning round — I cannot see you.” 

“That will go off. Keep as quiet as possible, 


THE WILL. 319 

' ' V '**. * V 

and lean your head against the cushion. I will 
follow you at once.” 

Otto got home and was put to bed. . The 
doctor examined him once more with the greatest 
care, removed the splinters of bone, and bound 
and plastered the wound. 

“How are they getting on over the way?” 
asked Otto when all was done. 

Prohle, who was in the room, told him that 
the poor woman was still unconscious. 

“ The house seems fated to misfortune,” said 
Fdhrenstedt as he took his leave. 

Salomon remained to make various little ar¬ 
rangements. He said a nurse must be procured ; 
but Fraulein Emma said she would manage better 
without help; a stranger would only be in the 
way. She spoke with such decision and confi¬ 
dence, and her brown eyes were so clear and 
resolute, that Doctor Salomon yielded. 

Otto was greatly exhausted; what he most 
needed was sleep. Emma’s round, fresh face 
looked down on him through a mist — he fancied 
he saw Lucinda in the plain, dark dress of a work¬ 
woman. 

Again he started up. “ The key,” he said 
fixing a vague gaze on Salomon. “ Please—take 


320 


THE WILL. 


it out — take care of it. . i But he could say 
no more, fatigue was too much for him. 

An hour later Doctor Salomon quitted the 
house in a state of extreme agitation. Before 
locking the drawer he had looked into it, and then 
had searched the room like a miser hunting for 
lost gold. . . . The sealed packet which Otto had 
so solemnly entrusted to him before they set out, 
had vanished and left not a trace. 

CHAPTER XX. 

EPHRAIM Peltzer meanwhile was sitting in 
a three-windowed room in the Oststrasse, which 
he had lately moved into, and was weighing his 
plunder — Otto Wellner’s mysterious packet — 
between his finger and thumb. He had bolted 
himself in, and carefully stuffed up the key-holes 
of both the doors. He turned and twisted the 
object of his pleased contemplation, examined the 
stamp on the seal — a Gothic W—, sat awhile 
with his head on his hand, and then rose with the 
air of a man who has an all-important problem to 
solve. 

He glanced round with conspicuous satisfac¬ 
tion at the vulgar luxury of his common lodging; 


THE WILL. 


321 


it was in fact a paradise by comparison with those 
to which Peltzer had hitherto been accustomed. 
The writing-bureau, of new shiny mahogany; the 
console with its looking-glass, between the two 
front windows; the gaudy lamp; the tightly- 
stuffed and utterly uncomfortable sofa, with its 
crochet-work cover; the abominable oil-prints on 
the flowered walls — all this seemed to the “ re¬ 
tired ” workman as splendid as the furniture of a 
palace. “ Ephraim Peltzer, Agent;” was displayed 
in florid lithography on a card by the street-door; 
the workman was on the high-road to wealth and 
dignity ! And the more Ephraim appreciated the 
“first-class apartment” let to him by a worthy 
tailoress, the more firmly was he resolved to do 
his utmost to secure the continuance of this beati¬ 
fic splendor. 

If he were to go at once to the baron, and 
hand over the packet with its five seals, Anasta- 
sius would no doubt pay down the sum agreed 
upon — but then the golden stream which had 
brought him such good cheer would cease to flow, 
at any rate for the present. Peltzer waxed mel¬ 
ancholy as he pondered whether he might not 
secure something more by threats of treachery ; 
but he soon gave up the idea; for, in the first 
place, he was even more deeply implicated than 


Vol. I. 


31 


322 


THE WILL. 


the baron, and in the second, unfortunately, Sunt- 
helm was master of a very effectual countermine. 
The theft perpetrated by Ephraim Peltzer and 
witnessed by Anastasius von Sunthelm — the ab¬ 
straction of that pocket-book in the pastry cook’s 
shop — was a far graver offence, than the commis¬ 
sion given by the baron for the removal of a packet 
which, as the superscription plainly declared, 
contained neither money nor anything worth 
money. — No ; the difficulty could not be escaped 
by those means. And yet, how much Peltzer 
wished he could see his way out of it ! The plot 
hatched by Bronner, the escaped convict, had its 
advantages; but at best it was a precious ticklish 
job — and if it were to leak out that Peltzer had 
any hand in it, good-bye for a good many years 
to the beautiful Italian landscape over the sofa, to 
the gorgeous scene of “ Parental love ” blazing in 
crimson and gold, over the alcove, and to that 
magnificent mahogany bureau. 

He went to the window. “ A very respectable 
street!” he said to himself; the long row of lodg¬ 
ing-houses with their freshly-stuccoed fronts struck 
him as quite palatial. And it was wide and airy, 
the pavement was even, the plate-glass windows 
of the new beer-saloon were so bright, the brass 
sign-plate was like gold, and the barmaid, who at 


N 


THE WILL. 323 

this moment came out to the doorway in her daz- 
zlingly-clean Sunday apron, was so blooming and 
buxom ! It would be really better fun to trot 
boldly through the sunlit streets, arm in arm with 
this rosy damsel, for instance, than to steal and 
creep through the alleys of the Von Durens’ gar¬ 
den with that suspicious jade Fanny — with the 
prospect, to be sure, of a splendid job at last, but 
never for an instant secure against discovery. 

He again took up the packet and read the 
mysterious words on the cover. He had always 
thought that the price that the baron was prepared 
to pay was monstrous, if his only object was to 
satisfy his curiosity, however eager it might be. 
But now he could not help asking himself what 
the contents of this queer parcel could possibly 
have to do with the love-affair of which the baron 
had constantly spoken. He thought and wondered, 
and devised a hundred possibilities; and by degrees 
systematically convinced himself of what he had 
long suspected : that the baron had told him a 
lie. At the same instant the thought flashed 
through his brain: “ Undo the seal and find out, 
once for all, a thing you can never guess.” 

The baron had made it a strict condition that 
the packet was to be delivered to him untouched ; 
but there would be no difficulty in refastening it 


*1 * 


324 


THE WILL. 


so as to defy detection — Bronner was sure to be 
up to such dodges. But, as he looked again at 
the seals, he thought better of it; he could 
do the job himself without that swindler’s help. 
He had plenty of time; it was all the same 
whether the baron got the packet to-day or to¬ 
morrow. 

He thought the matter over. Presently he 
took out a note-book and copied the shape of the 
W on the seal; seals with just such initials were 
to be bought at any stationer’s — and though 
Roderich Lund, under the demoralizing influence 
of strong Johannisberger, had gratified the “ psy¬ 
chological curiosity” of Baron von Sunthelm by 
giving him a minute description of this interest¬ 
ing document, words were not to be relied on in 
the matter of seals. These very seals, indeed, 
might be removed by means of a knife and re¬ 
placed without any possibility of discovery. It 
was different to opening a gummed wrapper ; there 
was always a risk of tearing it. And if the worst 
came to the worst, Ephraim Peltzer felt sure that 
he could copy the writing on the paper so perfectly 
that it would pass for the original. It was not for 
nothing that he had spent several months in a 
lawyer’s office; his writing was wonderfully skilful— 
and after all, if Herr von Sunthelm ever discov- 


THE WILL. 


325 


ered the trick, he would hardly be in a position to 
punish him for it. 

If the packet really contained an important 
secret — and the longer Peltzer thought of it the 
more likely this seemed — Baron von Sunthelm 
should henceforth be his milch-cow! If his 
worthy patron thought it desirable that the matter 
should lie buried in the heart of his accomplice, 
he would have to dip deep into his purse and hand 
over a nice little capital — enough to enable him 
to live a comfortable life, free from care or fears. 
The conviction that he was on the right scent be¬ 
came so strong that he was within an ace of sim¬ 
ply tearing the wrapper open. However, it was 
just possible that he might be mistaken ! 

He locked the packet into the splendid bureau, 
put on his hat, and hurried out. In twenty minutes 
he was back again ; he had found what he needed. 
After again bolting the doors he laid his materials 
out on the table—a seal, a new penknife, a stick 
of sealing-wax, a paper-knife and a few large enve¬ 
lopes ; then he took out the packet and set to work. 

His hands trembled as he raised the first seal; 
the wax was common, brittle stuff, easily removed, 
and in a few minutes he had got the packet open 
without injuring the wrapper. The envelope 
within was closely gummed down and more diffi- 


326 THE WILL. 

cult to deal with; however, after much patience, 
Peltzer succeeded in this also. It was with spark¬ 
ling eyes that he saw six or eight letters, each in its 
own envelope, enclosed in the outer one. The first 
was from Gottfried George Franz Wellner to his 
son Otto. This document, on the very first page, re¬ 
vealed the amazing facts of which the remaining 
papers contained the proof, while, at the same 
time, they supplied such information as would 
suffice, without any further clue, for obtaining its 
ample confirmation. In the course of this letter 
the elder Wellner gave the reasons which had 
prompted him to keep this important secret from 
the young man ; and his arguments were so sound, 
so full of wisdom and noble, manly feeling, that 
even Peltzer, in the first flush of satisfaction over 
his discovery, was conscious of a sentiment of en¬ 
vious respect. 

The remaining letters were for the most part 
written by one Adolar Thiemssen, from various 
towns in North America. The earliest was dated 
in the autumn of three years back. Two persons, 
then still living, were mentioned as witnesses, in 
case of need, to the truth of the statements it 
contained : first, the widow of a former servant of 
Baron Anastasius von Sunthelm: one Anna 
Theresa Molbeck; and secondly, a certain Frau 


THE WILL. 


327 


Tharow, who would beyond a doubt have turned 
her knowledge to account long since for the ex¬ 
traction of money, but that in past years the 
baron had been her lover, and she now found his 
influential protection necessary to shelter her from 
the investigations of certain censors of morals, 
who might have taken exception to the mode of 
life of the above-mentioned Widow Tharow. Herr 
von Sunthelm, however, had no suspicion — this 
was expressly noted — that Frau Tharow knew 
anything of the matter, for it was by a mere ac¬ 
cident that she had been in the brick house, by the 
Sand-gate, at the time when the baron and Adolar 
Thiemssen were concluding their bargain in a front 
room. There was also a document in the baron’s 
hand, so cautiously worded as to appear quite ir¬ 
relevant, but of the greatest importance when 
read in connection with the rest. 

For at least two hours Peltzer studied this 
precious treasure-trove. He read every line over 
and over, and the longer he read the more trium¬ 
phant was his expression. At last he sprang up; 
he rushed about the room like a madman, fighting 
the air with his fists. He thumped the table, he 
bellowed with delight. In sheer excitement he 
swept all the things he had bought, on to the 
floor; the sealing-wax broke and the seal rolled 


328 


THE WILL. 


under the sofa ... he did not want them ! he had 
the baron under his thumb. 

When he had spent his frenzy of joy he pressed 
the knob of the electric bell — an article which 
afforded him no less satisfaction than the mahogany 
bureau — and desired the landlady to bring him 
some writing-paper; then he copied all the docu¬ 
ments, word for word. He kept the originals of 
one of Thiemssen’s letters and of the baron’s 
note; the rest he packed up again and carefully 
gummed down the envelope. Then he picked up 
the wax and the seal — now that he was certain 
of his game he was tempted to play his victim ; 
the baron should, for the present, be allowed to be¬ 
lieve that the wrapper and its contents were intact. 

He set out on his errand at once. Anastasius 
von Sunthelm received him with well-affected in¬ 
difference. 

“Aha!” he said, “you have brought me the 
much-talked-of packet of curiosities. Well, I am 
really not sorry to have it, for I have the keenest 

suspicions_However, that cannot matter to you. 

Here, these bank-notes settle your claims, and now 
all I ask of you...” and he laid his finger on his lips. 

“I understand,” said Peltzer coolly folding up 
the notes. 

“ Mon Dieu /” said the baron, feeling the 


X 


/ 

') 


THE WILL. 329 

V f ‘7 1 '- 

i “7 v ‘ ^ 

necessity of making his fiction look more probable, 
“ I really cannot blame the women if they look on 
some of their husband’s escapades with other eyes 
than those of an unprejudiced man of the world. 
However — every one to his taste. A man of 
rank likes to pluck these living blossoms—it has 
been the way of the fashionable world from all 
time. On the surface of course we must obey the 
rules of morality and keep our innocent little pas¬ 
sions as dark as possible, but as to giving them up! 
that is too much to expect. — Well now, once for 
all, the matter is dead and buried.” 

“ Dead and buried,” replied Peltzer in a choked 
voice. He trembled to think of the effect of the 
words which were burning the tip of his tongue. 
It occurred to him that in his sudden fury the 
baron might seize the gleaming Damascus blade 
which formed the centre of an elegant trophy on 
the wall over his writing-table — or might bring a 
revolver out of his breast-pocket and shoot his ac¬ 
cuser dead on the spot. In fact there could be no 
doubt that Anastasius, to carry through the busi¬ 
ness so far as this, must be a man of prompt re¬ 
solve, a criminal prepared at all hazards for the 
worst, and afraid of no man living. 

After some hesitation, however, Peltzer dared 
to go on. 


330 


THE WILL. 


“Dead and buried!” he had said; and he 
added: “ If every one can hold their tongue as 
faithfully as I. But if the woman Molbeck, your 
servant’s widow for instance. ...” 

Anastasius turned as pale as ashes. He rose 
slowly and said in a hoarse voice : “ What do you 
mean by that ?” 

“I only mean,” said Peltzer smiling — for to 
see the self-contained man of the world lose his 
presence of mind was an infinite satisfaction — 
“that Molbeck, on his death-bed. . . .” 

“ Hush !” interrupted the baron husky with 
terror. “ Come closer. How do you know. . . .” 

“ What ?” 

“ That. . . that. — How did you know my ser¬ 
vant ?” 

“ Molbeck ? I never knew him.” 

“ But his widow . . . What has that whining 
hypocrite told you ? I neglected Molbeck, it is 
true, was unjust to him perhaps. . . .” 

“ On the contrary, you paid him splendidly.” 

“ Who says so ?” 

“ Well, there are certain sources. ...” 

*» • 

Long ere this Von Sunthelm had regretted his 
lack of self-command and had quite recovered 
himself. His heart quaked, it is true, at this plain 



THE WILL. 


33 1 


hint; but he stood firm and without blenching, 
leaning on the back of his chair. 

“ Your sources are muddy ones it would seem,” 
he said with distant politeness. “ I can only re¬ 
gret having allowed myself to give way to anger; 
when I parted with Molbeck I had very good 
reasons for doing so; and I ought to be perfectly 
indifferent to his widow’s low attempts to gratify 
her revenge by mean insinuations.” 

“ I can only repeat that you never neglected 
Molbeck, on the contrary, that you petted and 
bribed him; and his wife, when she found out. . .” 

Anastasius drew back a step; he reached a 
bottle of water and poured out a tumblerfull. It 
was clear that this rascal Peltzer knew everything 
and had every intention of turning his knowledge 
to his own advantage. 

While the baron slowly gulped the cooling 
draught, he took stock of the position with the 
swift intuition of despair. The worst possibilities, 
the terrors which some few years since had 
haunted his imagination, were now a thing of the 
past; his deed had grown old. But what would 
it avail him to feel secure from the vengeance of 
the law and a disgraceful penalty. His whole ex¬ 
istence would none the less be ruined if his mis¬ 
deed came to light— utterly ruined, on all sides.. 


332 


THE WILL. 


It was not merely his actual daily life in the centre 
of the gay town, society which he loved, which 
was the very element he breathed in ; the posses¬ 
sion of his two millions* was at stake. And with 
the money he worshipped all must go that he so 
keenly enjoyed, all the sunshine of a fashionable 
and luxurious existence — the easy pillows, the 
costly furniture, the Lucullus-like banquets, the 
champing thorough-breds. By a very simple pro¬ 
cess those millions would become the property of 
the man he hated, of that Otto — Wellner as he 
was called — who had the advantage over Anas- 
tasius inasmuch as he was young, and who would 
live and die quite contented with what the world 
had to give him — for he knew no better ! He did 
not guess what Fate — or, to be accurate, the 
baron’s villainy — had withheld from him. 

The baron’s aversion for Otto suddenly flamed 
up into passionate fury ; for there is no one so 
odious to a guilty man as the victim of his crime. 
During the two or three minutes, while he stood 
drinking by the little bronze side-table, a hundred 
schemes flashed through his brain. The first and 
most obvious was to buy Peltzer’s silence with a 
handful of gold. But if the rascal were to put too 
high a price on it ? From all he had seen of him 

* 2,000,000 thalers, about 1,500,000 dollars =,£300,000. 


THE WILL. 


333 


hitherto the baron might be prepared for any¬ 
thing.— In that case the extortionate scoundrel 
must be silenced by other means .... something 
would suggest itself.— Then as to the Widow, 
who, as it seemed, had proved treacherous in spite 
of her husband’s dying injunctions .... Then, if 
at last Otto should hear of it ... . these were 
fearful odds ! 

In this desperate crisis the baron wielded 
sword and dagger, brewed poisons, hired bandits 
and assassins. Rather than wait for the catas¬ 
trophe which would fling him from the eminence 
of a fashionable position, and slur the ancient 
arms of Von Sunthelm-Hiddensoe with an in¬ 
delible stain, he would fly to extreme measures; 
rather should a fresh and more terrible crime blot 
out the old one. 

He turned on Peltzer with a sudden flash of 
decision: 

“ Did you open this packet ?” he asked with a 
scowl. 

“ And if I did ?” 

“You would be a mean scoundrel, returning 
base ingratitude for all my generosity and kind¬ 
ness !” 

Peltzer laughed. 

“Generosity, kindness!” he repeated ironi- 



334 


THE WILL. 


cally. “ What fine names you gentle folks hit 
upon !” 

“ Have done with this nonsense. Tell me, in 
so many words: What sum do you pretend to 
claim ?” 

“ There is no hurry about that,” said Peltzer 
with a grin. “ I will settle that another time.” 

“ No, I like to be quit of such matters. Name 
your price.” 

“Well then, say twelve thousand marks.”* 
The baron drew breath ; he had expected a larger 
figure, and Peltzer’s modesty almost made him 
hope that, after all, his knowledge was not so 
fatally compromising as he represented. The 
baron made no reply; he took up the fateful 
packet and broke the seals. He pretended to be 
agreeably surprised as he glanced through its 
contents; but the pallor which crept over his 
haggard features gave the lie to this mockery. 

“Very good,” he said. “I will agree to your 
extortionate demand — on one condition.” Pelt¬ 
zer’s spirit leaped within him ; he had not hoped 
for such an easy triumph. 

“Thank you,” he said very civilly. “Name 
your conditions.” 

The baron met his glance with a terrible eye. 

* About 3,000 dollars. 



THE WILL. 


335 


“ You must swear that you will never make 
any further demands on my purse; — also that 
you will aid and abet me in — in smothering all 
enquiries. If you do what I require in this par¬ 
ticular I will freely and amply reward your ser- 

• ) y 

vices. 

“ What are the services ?” asked Ephraim with 
a twinkle in his eye. 

“ That you shall know when the time comes. 
For the present — swear ....!” 

Peltzer put his hands in his pockets and 
shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Herr Baron,” he said with his head on one 
side : “ What is the use of swearing . . . between 

you and me ?” 

The color flew into the baron’s face. 

“Very well,” he said, with a tight pinch of 
his aristocratic lips. “ Then listen to me. In¬ 
stead of swearing — which would not bind you — 
listen to my final and fixed determination : Be¬ 
fore I let a rascal like you squeeze me like a 
sponge . . . .” 

“ Who talks of squeezing you ?” began Eph¬ 
raim with a cunning grin. “You little know me, 
Herr Baron. Twelve thousand marks are a mere 
flea-bite out of your enormous income—but I am 
a civil, reasonable sort of chap and do not want 



336 


THE WILL. 


to grab everything for myself. Well, it is settled 
— when and where can I get the money?” 

“ Here, on Tuesday next, between one and 
two.” 

Peltzer made a clumsy bow and saying, with 
insolent familiarity: “ Till we meet again,” left 
the room. 

“ A d-d impudent rogue !” sighed the 

baron. “ He thinks he has me in his power; he 
means to fleece me, to squeeze the very breath 
out of me ! Was I mad or what infernal dotage 
made me employ him of all men ? If only I had 
gone myself instead .... But he had better mind 
what he is about! If he goes too far, if I find 
that I am in any real and pressing danger — 
I can still find ways and means . . . and it will be 
his own doing. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

On the following Tuesday, at the appointed 
hour, Peltzer received the twelve thousand marks, 
as agreed, from Baron von Sunthelm. The sight 
of the bank-notes with the three large O’s nearly 
turned his brain ; the possession of such docu¬ 
ments was something so new, so incredible. He 



THE WILL. 


337 


changed one of the dozen at the first money¬ 
changers, and sewed the eleven others, as soon as 
he got home, into the lining of his coat. 

Having done this he made his way to the 
milk and coffee shop kept by the pawnbroker in the 
Fabriciusstrasse. Here he found Bronner just as 
before, sitting stolidly boozy over his glass of 
spirits. A smoky kitchen lamp stood on the 
table, for daylight could hardly find its way in 
through the dingy pane of glass over the door. 
Bronner seemed to have been reading, till tedium 
and lethargy had been too much for him and had 
given his features an almost deathlike look. The 
man’s whole appearance had changed for the 
worse rather than for the better. He wore the 
same ragged clothes, and had made no closer ac¬ 
quaintance with soap and water. 

“What? to-day again?” he said lifting his 
head. 

“Yes, sure enough,” said Peltzer. “I have 
come to tell you that I will have nothing to do 
with it.” 

“ Are you gone mad ?” 

“ By no means. But I see my way clear to 
making as much money as I care for by safe and 
respectable means, and I should be no better 
than a fool to risk my neck in a wild-goose chase.” 


Vol. I. 


23 


338 


THE WILL. 


“ But why the devil did you never think of 
this before ?” 

“ What a stupid question ! Because I could 
not know beforehand . . . 

“ And what is to become of me ? The money 
you are swindling somebody out of will not float 
me over the dam I suppose ?” 

“ Swindling ?” 

“ Well, money does not generally fall from the 
clouds.” 

“You are talking nonsense,” said Peltzer dis¬ 
dainfully. 

“ Or have you come into a fortune ?” 

“ I can earn as much as I want, and that's 
enough. In point of fact I never was in earnest 
about the other job. I only thought — when 
time hangs heavy a man gets queer notions . . . .” 

Bronner laughed viciously. 

“ Holy innocent!” he said sarcastically. “ Do 
you know, Peltzer, that you are behaving like a 
sneak ? Here I sit waiting and shall rot before 
long in this musty hole; and when things are 
getting pretty for’ard you shuffle out of it. It is 
deuced mean, Peltzer, and what no man of honor 
will submit to !” 

“ Honor! Do you talk of honor, you thief 
among thieves!” 


THE WILL. 


339 


“ That has nothing to do with it. I do not 
care for honor in the lawyer’s sense of the word — 
and yet I can keep my word to a friend or a pal. 
Besides, I thought you were in love with the bag¬ 
gage.” 

Peltzer shook his head. 

“ There are plenty more — and prettier ones 
too. And what is more, you may give them a 
kiss without feeling as nervous as a dog robbing 
a larder.” 

“ It is a devilish hard case,” groaned Bronner 
clutching his hair. 

“ I tell you what!” said Peltzer suddenly, after 
a pause. “ If you are so set on this job, do it by 
yourself!” 

“ Absurd !” 

“ Not at all. The girl, you see, cares quite as 
much for money as for a follower. If you clean 
yourself up a bit you are not half a bad-looking 
fellow. This evening at ten she expects me — 
here is her note, left at the post-office to be called 
for — I gave my name as Lehmann. Well then, 
do you go instead of me, and say that your friend 
Lehmann has gone abroad, suddenly, and is 
never coming back.” 

“ And do you believe that she will swallow 
that?” 


340 


THE WILL. 


“ Of course she will. If you set to work the 
right way the deuce is in it if, by the third time 
you see her, you are not as much in it as I am 
now. And I will write to her — in a false hand, 
of course,— and tell her she ought to have been 
kind to me, or that the whole thing is hopeless — 
or however I may be able to put it.” 

“ Aye, but then I shall have to go out several 
times, and I shall run the risk . . . .” 

“You can go a dozen times,” said Peltzer. 
“Your hair has grown, and you do not suppose 
that every policeman carries a telescope to watch 
one wretched runaway. They have something 
else to do.” 

“That may be — but what next?” 

“Why, man, have you lost your wits? Next 
you must do whatever turns up !— Understand 
me clearly; it is no part of my plans to egg you 
on — but if you act on your own account it will 
be all the same to me; I will tell no tales.” 

“ I should think not indeed !” 

“ Why ?” 

“ Because you would be up to your ears in 
the mud too.” 

“You noodle! Why you know more of the 
law than that! If I were to blab — turn king’s 


THE WILL. 


341 


evidence! No, my good friend — though it would 
be quite in your style!” 

The escaped convict sat brooding sulkily. 

“ I will think it over,” he said at length. 
“ Meanwhile if you have such splendid prospects 
you might lend me a little to go on with. I will 
pay you when I am next in funds. Well, you 
need not make such a sour face over it. I am 
not such a sneak as to cheat a pal on purpose.” 

“Just listen to me,” said Peltzer crossly. “I 
am sick of your everlasting clack about being 
‘pals.’ There is not a man in the world who 
can say anything against me, and that is more 
than you can boast.” 

“Oh! very well; I will call you my Lord, 
Count if you like. Heaven and earth! you must 
indeed be browsing in clover. So much the 
better for me. Just hand me over a snug little 
sum; the twenty marks all went in the clothes 
that the landlord found me.” 

“Where are the clothes ?” 

“Up-stairs. The rags I have got on are al¬ 
most too bad even for this beastly hole. But 
now — if I really go in for courting the little witch, 
and I do not say I wont—I must have something 
to wear, and something rather better than a 
shabby blouse. Send me two hundred marks 


342 


THE WILL. 


and if I let out your real name you may call me 
a dirty sneak.” 

‘‘Say: May I perish . . . .” 

“May I perish if ever I break my word!” 

“Very good. Here are the two hundred 
marks. And now do the best you can for your¬ 
self. Only mind, I am out of it, once for all.” 

“All right,” said the other, slipping the money 
into his pocket. Peltzer went away. 

“ I wish I was fairly rid of that fellow,” he 
said to himself, as he went down the street. “I 
have not felt so comfortable and easy for many a 
long day. I could find it in my heart to be sorry 
for Fanny;—but it cannot be helped. When a 
man is not forced to turn knave the saying that 
‘honesty is the best policy* is not a bad one after 
all.” And proud in the consciousness of a high 
moral tone, Peltzer made his way home. 

An hour later, when it was quite dark, Bron- 
ner stole out of a side door. A large-crowned 
cap with a leather peak covered his brown curly 
hair, and his russet beard, instead of sticking out 
in coarse tangles round his chin, was carefully 
combed. He stole along a narrow unpaved alley 
that ran, parallel to the Fabriciusstrasse, to the 
remotest part of the suburb. It took him some 
little time to get over the alarm he felt at the 


THE WILL. 


343 


sight of human faces. He fancied that each one 
stared at him suspiciously, and that he was recog¬ 
nized at least three times in a minute, though he 
had hardly ever walked through this part of the 
town before. To appear as innocent and uncon¬ 
cerned as possible he whistled now and then the 
tune of some street song. A pang came over him 
as, at the corner of one of the cross streets, he spied 
the helmet of a policeman. It was all he could do 
to control himself, and not to take to his heels on 
the spot. But by degrees he got used to the sense 
of danger. The policeman had walked past him 
at a deliberate pace, and had not even looked 
round at the trembling wretch who, in fancy, al¬ 
ready felt the grip of the law on his collar. His 
long seclusion and the excitement of his escape 
had put him into a state of nervous distress which 
must have its course, and this aimless wandering 
through the less-frequented streets was a sort of 
soothing treatment, a preparatory course, to 
qualify the criminal for a sterner ordeal. 

While this shameless bargain between Peltzer 
and Bronner was being transacted behind her back, 
the abandoned little hussy who had so recklessly 
betrayed the confidence of her master’s family 
was thinking of nothing but her lover — the man 
she was really and passionately devoted to, and 


344 


THE WILL. 


for whose pleasure she had laid a trap for Peltzer’s 
conceit. This lover was no less a person than the 
notorious agitator Leopold Meynert. It was he 
who had come to meet her in the palm-house on 
the evening of Camilla’s betrothal. With him she 
intended, sooner or later, to fly beyond the seas, 
and to sell herself, body and soul, to the man she 
adored. The fact that he would leave a wife and 
family to starve made no difference to Fanny. In 
her pretty empty head, from the time her eyes 
first saw light, one sole idea had held sway: en¬ 
joyment— pleasure — to be happy in her own 
way. Thousands might perish for aught she 
cared, so long as she could laugh, and deck herself 
with finery and jewels, above all if she only had 
Him to pet and fondle her; this was to her the 
acme of all dreamed-of joy. 

The creature was a repulsive mixture of good 
and evil — but baseness and meanness gave the 
prevailing tone. If she had been born under the 
radiance of an absolute sovereign — at Versailles, 
for instance, in the seventeenth century — she 
might have brought a nation to ruin; as it was 
she could only wreck the happiness of a family. 

Long before Peltzer had come within her ken 
with his suggestive hints, the idea of taking some 
of the wealth of the household with her on her 


THE WILL. 


345 


journey to El Dorado, had entered her head. She 
had instinctively guessed what her new lover 
would be at, and the project had flashed upon her 
of making the man her tool, and then cheating 
and beguiling him of the fruits of his crime. 
Peltzer should effect the robbery and give her the 
plunder to take care of; then, long before that 
slow, clumsy dolt had discovered the trick, she 
would be off and away with Leopold Meynert. 

She had reckoned it all closely, and worked it 
out to a nicety. She would ask for a holiday the 
day before, to go home to a friend’s wedding; 
then, if Peltzer were successful in the robbery, she 
would be beyond suspicion and have ample time 
to make off. 

Leopold Meynert meanwhile was not idle. He 
had procured passports; he had devised an excuse 
for a longer absence from Oberhorchheim without 
extending his propagandist tour — which would of 
course be watched and commented on in the 
papers. 

All that now remained was to fix the day and 
hour, and two things had to be considered. In 
the first place, Meynert was quite as much bent 
on an easy and comfortable future as Fanny, and he 
had made up his mind that the cash-box of the As¬ 
sociation should form part of his luggage. He had 


346 


THE WILL. 


confided this scheme to Fanny and had explained 
to her that he could not stir till the contents of 
the said cash-box, which had sunk to a low ebb, 
should have swelled to high-tide again. There was, 
happily, an immediate prospect of this favorable 
reaction. The coming elections had fanned party 
spirit to a white heat, and subscriptions and dona¬ 
tions were flowing in. If this continued, he would 
have a considerable sum in hand by the middle of 
December — and then away — away with smiling 
Fanny and smiling Mammon to the realms of un¬ 
disturbed enjoyment. 

This very evening at eight— two hours before 
her meeting with Peltzer, represented by Bronner— 
Meynert was to join Fanny in the shrubbery be¬ 
hind the Von Diirens’ house and, if possible, fix 
the day and hour for her flight; then, at ten, 
Fanny could name a suitable hour for her pseudo¬ 
lover’s burglary. This, in fact, was the reason why 
she had written to make the appointment with 
Peltzer, alias Lehmann. 

She was counting the minutes with eager 
anxiety. So utterly absent-minded was she, in 
her passion for her criminal lover, that she forgot 
to put on her wonted smile when Herr von Tyl- 
lichau, meeting her in the ante-room, chucked her 
rosy chin. She did not even pay any attention to 


THE WILL. 


347 


the conversation in the drawing-room, though the 
door was ajar, and, as a rule, she could not help 
listening. She wandered about among the flowers 
and stands of plants in dreamy absence of mind, 
till a merry laugh from Camilla roused her from 
this absorbed oppression. 

They were discussing Camilla’s wedding. 
Fanny heard her young mistress exclaim in rap¬ 
turous tones: “ Then it is really fixed for the fif¬ 
teenth !” 

The listener pricked up her ears with a faint, 
ironical smile : the bridegroom, who only a few 
minutes since had left the tokens of his admiration 
on the little waiting-maid’s rosy cheeks, responded 
to Camilla’s ecstasies in a few graceful and ornate 
phrases that might have been borrowed from some 
young lady’s novel. But suddenly the conversa¬ 
tion had become interesting: there could be no 
doubt in Fanny’s mind that the fifteenth of De¬ 
cember would be the day, and nothing could suit 
her schemes more admirably. 

Originally the third of March, as being 
Camilla’s birthday, had been named for the wed¬ 
ding ; but Herr von Tyllichau had pressed for an 
earlier date, not merely for the satisfaction of his 
impatient heart, but on practical grounds, explain¬ 
ing that it was necessary that he should go early in 



34 § 


THE WILL. 


February to inspect in person one of the estates 
which he managed with such admirable skill. It 
was, he knew, asking a great sacrifice of his 
Camilla, as she would have to spend Christmas, for 
the first time, away from her parents and friends ; 
but he hoped that she might soon forget her 
homesickness on the Riva degli Schiavoni where 
they would go for their honeymoon. . . . 

“ Homesickness !” exclaimed Camilla. “ How 
can I be homesick when I am married ?” 

Thus, half in earnest and half in jest, the talk 
lasted some time. Fanny cogitated on the results 
of this information and found them entirely satis¬ 
factory. This wedding, in fact, seemed arranged 
on purpose to facilitate the execution of the 
scheme that she had hatched with Peltzer. On such 
occasions the whole household were occupied in 
the front rooms; there was a general bustle and 
stir which absorbed every body’s attention; and 
any exceptional incident, which at other times 
might excite remark, would pass unnoticed. 

It was settled in short; unless anything un¬ 
foreseen should interfere, the fifteenth of December 
must be the decisive day. 

Punctually at eight Meynert was at the garden 
gate. Fanny let him in, and with her finger on 
her lips led him to a thick clump of shrubs not 


THE WILL. 


349 


far from the entrance. The leafless arms of the 
Virginia creeper rustled inhospitably in the cold 
night-wind, and a damp, earthy smell filled the air. 
The lovers felt nothing of the autumnal desola¬ 
tion ; they clung together in a passionate embrace 
and kissed like Hero and Leander after the battle 
with the waves. This Leander too — though he 
had little else in common with his classical proto¬ 
type— had flung himself into the stormy waters 
of dishonor and unfaith; he had yielded to the 
seductions of woman — for, in fact, it was not till 
he had met Fanny, not till this Avily little Siren 
had falsified his heart and judgment, that the 
thought of such a crime had ever occurred to him. 
Fanny’s smile had poisoned the very sources of 
good in him, all that was wholesome or manly : 
his feeling for the faithful partner of his life, his 
love for his parents, his sense of self-respect and 
honor. Her blandishments and greed for luxury 
had degraded the weak, vain, susceptible man, 
whose eloquence only wore the semblance of 
strength of purpose, to the level of a common 
criminal.—His wife—his betrayed wife—prompted 
by an uncle, had made him a speechifying agita¬ 
tor ; and a convent-bred innocent might have 
made him a pietist; or a well-born heiress might 
have made him a bigoted conservative! 


350 


THE WILL. 


At nine he and Fanny parted. Everything 
fitted, everything was concerted, down to the 
minutest detail. 

Fanny ran back into the house; Holtmann 
was just taking in the tea and she would be 
wanted no more for the present. She paused as 
she passed the drawing-room door, and heard her 
master comment in the severest terms on the dis¬ 
pute between Ewald and Otto Wellner; Doctor 
Wolf, and still more Doctor Lehrbach, eagerly de¬ 
fended Wellner’s conduct in the affair, and finally 
Lucinda expressed herself with much decision as 
opposed to her father’s stern judgment in the case. 

As she heard Frau Lehrbach’s warm defense 
a look of sly intelligence dawned on Fanny’s face, 
which, being interpreted, meant: “ Aha ! So you 
are sweet on the young man ! I understand !” Then 
she flew up to her room, and on the back of a torn 
play-bill scribbled the rough copy of a note which 
her aunt — a stupid old body, completely under 
her niece’s thumb — was to write and send by 
post, to Fraulein Fanny Labitsky, at his Excellency 
Herr von Dtiren’s. 

This epistle, not altogether free from mistakes 
in spelling, ran as follows: 

“Dear Fanny: The hand of the Lord has 
fallen heavily on our earthly head. It has pleased 


THE WILL. 


351 


the Almighty to call your good uncle, my dearly 
beloved husband, to Himself, after a short illness. 
This morning, the 13th, at about seven o’clock, he 
closed his eyes in rest.” Then followed a few sen¬ 
tences as to the widow’s heartfelt grief, ending 
with a moving appeal to Fanny “ not to leave her 
aunt alone in her sorrow, but to pay the last 
honors to the deceased, and to come to Bosenheim 
as soon as their excellencies, her master’s ladies, 
could spare her.” 

By the time Fanny had sketched this letter it 
was nearly ten. She carefully put it by and went 
down-stairs again to ask Holtmann once more, 
with dutiful zeal, whether she was wanted for any¬ 
thing. Holtmann assured her that she was not, 
and then, as they stood behind the curtains over the 
door, gave her a stolen glass of Chateau d’Yquem. 
For this she saucily patted his cheek, and as she 
turned away, he too sighed : “ Sweet little puss ! 

If only I were twenty years younger!” 

Bronner, with a beating heart, was standing at 
the gate of the Von Durens’ garden; he walked 
up and down two or three times . . . punctually as 
the clock struck Fanny opened the gate. 

At first she was startled, but Bronner spoke at 
once: “ I have come from Lehmann.” And then, 
as Fanny still hesitated, he added reassuringly : 



352 


THE WILL. 


“ I know everything; Lehmann and me, it’s all 
one. He has been obliged to go away suddenly, 
on a journey, and I have come in his place. We 
are partners—we go halves, Lehmann and me, 
unless you prefer to give him the go-by alto¬ 
gether.” 

Fanny, who had heard from Peltzer that he 
had a partner, was at once ready to accept the 
situation, and before long Bronner frankly con¬ 
fessed the fact that Lehmann had thrown up the 
job. 

This at first somewhat alarmed the girl. 

“Will he hold his tongue?” she said. “How¬ 
ever, I must say .... a man who leaves me in the 
lurch without a word is not worth a minute’s 
thought or regret. And after all — you are as 
good-looking as Lehmann at any rate !” 

Bronner had not expected such an easy con¬ 
quest and was intoxicated by his success. When 
he presently asked the girl whether she remem¬ 
bered him, and she answered with a ready lie: 
“of course I do;” and allowed him to put his arm 
round her waist, the possession of such a sweet¬ 
heart filled almost as important a place in Bron- 
ner’s fancy as the cash-box in Von Diiren’s library. 


END OF VOL. I. 




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